Strange Powers
by Tinstars
Summary: America thought it would be funny to turn the device on himself. What's the worst that could happen? Y'know, aside from accidentally falling in love with your friend. This is my continuation of "America's strange invention" from the end of Comic Diary 8.
1. Chapter 1

He hadn't actually intended to pull the trigger. His finger slipped.

America had been showing Japan some of his latest military technology. His top scientists called it a hyper…amorous...stimulation…something something. America called it The Gayray. Okay, so he hadn't exactly made it himself, but he'd come up with the idea. It was experimental and top secret, and his people had assured him that it was almost ready for mass production. It was his right to show it off.

And then Japan had started poking holes in the idea. Alright, so maybe there'd been a _few_ times when love had actually strengthened armies. That didn't necessarily mean it would apply to modern armies. Japan wasn't always right.

So he'd put the gun to his own head. It was meant to be a joke, but then…

His finger slipped. The gun crackled and he felt something inside him change – a warmth spreading over his mind. Oh, this was bad. This was very bad.

America jolted to consciousness with a gasp and tried to say something to Japan, but the words wouldn't come. The gun fell from his hand and hit the ground, interrupting the silence with a noisy clatter.

Japan could see the alarm in America's face. "D-did something happen?" he asked, covering his mouth with his hand.

"Couldn't you see it?" America asked hysterically, regaining his voice.

"I didn't see anything abnormal," Japan replied.

"I-I felt it, though. The gun went off. Oh god. I can't be – I c-can't…" America started to back away, eyeing Japan as though he expected something terrible to happen at any moment.

Japan attempted to quell America's distress. "Please stay calm, America-san. It may not affect you as it would a normal person."

America crossed his chest with his arms, clutching at his shoulders. His voice started to rise in pitch, and the words came out stilted. "But I can _feel_ it. Something inside me. In my mind. Make it stop! Japan, you have to do something or I'm gonna turn into a little sissy-"

"A-america!" Japan yelled, though his raised volume was barely on par with America's regular voice.

America looked up and took a deep breath. If he was going down, he would face his fate like a hero. He stared into Japan's eyes, gauging the strength of the inevitable homosexual urges. To his surprise, he didn't feel anything.

After a long pause, Japan spoke up again. "Are you alright?"

America looked down, studying his hands as though he'd expected to turn into an alien. "I…I think so. Hm. Maybe it's broken." He crouched down and picked up the gun gingerly, taking extra care not to touch the trigger again.

"What were you expecting?" Japan asked.

"I dunno. I guess I just thought I would fall in love with whoever was around."

"America-san, I don't think such feelings can be created from nothing. Maybe your 'weapon' can only enhance feelings that already exist."

America scrunched his nose in thought as he stared at the gun. Japan sighed inwardly, hoping that America would finally calm down. He wasn't sure how the gun could work at all, but he would never say such a thing about America's creation outright.

After a minute or two more than was necessary, America finally looked back at Japan. "Okay, I guess that makes sense," he replied.

Japan smiled. "Do you feel better?" he asked.

America paused again, and then returned the smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for setting me straight. I don't know what happened, but I think I'll be okay."

"Ah. I'm glad."

They walked back to the hotel, where America promptly holed up in his room, put the gun back in its aluminum case and checked the lock compulsively for the rest of the evening.

One phrase kept coming back to America, sneaking in through some dark crevasse in his mind. _Maybe your 'weapon' can only enhance feelings that already exist._

_Feelings that already exist._

Every time this phrase caught up with him, his chest would tighten inexplicably, forcing him to take a deep breath. At regular intervals he would reach up and rub his head without realizing it.

So he would be alright as long as he didn't have unresolved feelings toward the people around him.  
And he didn't.

So why did his heart feel like it was doing the Charleston whenever that phrase popped up?

True, he had "feelings" toward certain people, but they weren't romantic or sexual feelings or anything like that.  
It was just…complicated.

America reached behind his back and propped up the lumpy hotel pillows. He leaned against the pile and let his mind wander, thinking about the series of meetings that were about to take place.

In a way, he had a deep connection to a lot of the countries there. His people had come from many of them. His culture, his language, his accents – so many aspects of himself were derived from these individuals.

But there was one person who kept appearing in his imagination. One person with whom he had shared so much of his life. Memories and images started to surface from the depths of his mind.

A hand reaching out to him. A figure framed by sunlight.

The joy in his heart each time he'd held one of England's letters in his small hands.

The pain of loss and the longing, despite his utter conviction that it had been for the best.

Giving support to soldiers in the trenches. A look of empathy as they shared in their trials and their grief.

Seeing his former mentor covered in bandages, ravaged by bombs. The sudden, uncontrollable desire to cry despite the grin he put on. The look on England's face the first time one of their joint missions was successful. The unrestrained smile when it became clear that they might actually win. To see that transformation - that elation in England eyes after so much pain – had definitely stirred up something.

The newfound interest when their cultures started to cross over, as they learned how to relate to each other as equals. For a few years after America left, they had even written letters to each other again – real cordial correspondence – before the distance and political stresses piled up once again and the bickering resumed. Thinking about this, it made America sad. He didn't know why; it wasn't as though England had openly broken apart from him. Their political relationship was in a constant state of flux, but their alliance was still very much intact.

He couldn't deny that he felt elements of England's popular culture affecting him all the time. Actors, movies, books. Music, especially. He had more than a few issues of NME stashed away.

And even though he wouldn't say so out loud, he liked it. Having something to share with England again made him feel nostalgic and warm and floaty, like the feeling that comes from lying in the grass on a summer day as the possibilities of the world unfold behind closed eyelids.

Okay, maybe the situation was a bit more complicated than he'd thought.

In the morning, America woke with a feeling of nervous dread, like something angry and pointy was bouncing around in pit of his stomach. He checked his appearance in the mirror so many times that he considered punching it, until he realized that he'd have to smash all the mirrors to escape their draw.

This was stupid. What was he worried about? One little shot from an amorous-whatever-device wouldn't send him into a flustered tizzy. He was the United States of Awesome. Besides, he wasn't even sure if the gun had worked.

"So why am I doing this?" he asked his reflection as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to achieve a look that suggested he'd rolled out of bed like this and looked fucking amazing anyway. After a few more strokes, he stepped back and looked at himself. The more he stared, the more uneasy he felt. His reflection was starting to look unfamiliar, like a word read over and over again. He took a deep breath, leaned his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror and decided that he must be going nutty. His heart pounded.

_Feelings that already exist._

He pushed himself away from the mirror and shook his whole body out. Following a couple of swift slaps to the face, he took a deep breath and went on his way, slick black briefcase in tow.

Upon arriving at the meeting, he caught himself taking note of who was there. France, Germany and Spain were chatting about something fruity and European, like soccer. Japan sat at the far end of the table, sorting his pens according to style and color. There were a few stragglers outside the conference room, talking on their phones and making plans for the evening. England wasn't there yet, and America refused to consider why this was.

America strode in as he normally did, holding himself like he had already won the support of every person in the room. He sat down next to Japan and cracked his knuckles loudly, overcompensating for his insecurity by mimicking his highest level of confidence. Japan didn't react to his performance at all.

"Hello, America-san."

"Hey Japan," America answered with a resigned sigh.

"Are you well? Is the-" Japan leaned in close and whispered, "is the issue from yesterday still bothering you?"

America paused. He didn't want to lie to Japan, but what could he say? At the same time, he knew that if he lied it would be the first step on a very dangerous, unhealthy path.

"Naw, I'm fine. Haven't even thought about it since yesterday." As America became more nervous, his voice grew louder. "I'm so un-gay for everyone here it's not even ridiculous. In fact, I was just thinking about how much I love boobs!"

A very awkward silence fell over the room as the world leaders heard America's proclamation. It was even more awkward for England, who had just entered the room looking haggard and tense.

"Oh, honestly," England mumbled, though he still chose the seat next to America. The buzz of conversation resumed, and America desperately hoped that he his face wasn't as red as it felt.

Japan finally replied, attempting to politely ignore the awkward situation that America had created. "I'm glad you feel better. I am sure that nothing will come of it."

He waited for America's response, which never came. Unsure of what to do, he started to talk about the latest technology being developed. America barely heard a word of it, as he was thinking about the man sitting on his other side. Did England always sit next to him? He'd never really thought about it, but looking back, he couldn't remember the last time England wasn't seated in his near vicinity.

But that wasn't weird. He and England were allies. You could even say that they were friends, when it came down to it. Sure they fought, and their connection had been tumultuous at times, but at the heart of everything they were definitely friends. America was even willing to eat England's food, even though it was always bland and overcooked, and England insisted on putting soggy onions in everything he could get his hands on. That had to mean something. So there was absolutely nothing strange about sitting next to each other.

"…still wish that 2-dimensional characters could hold intuitive conversation. Or give consent." Japan let out a melancholy sigh.

America snapped back to reality. "W-what?"

Japan realized that he had revealed too much, and immediately backtracked.  
"It's nothing! I misspoke!"

"Right." America replied, cocking his eyebrow.

Japan swallowed audibly and started to thumb through the meeting agenda. Sensing his discomfort, America gazed around the room, only to see that England was staring at him. He glanced away quickly

America wasn't sure what to do next. He tried to think about what he normally did before a meeting, but those memories had suddenly melted away, leaving him to re-learn his own life patterns.

"Alright?" England asked. It seemed that America had stopped moving altogether.

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, I'm great." America rolled his neck and then shot England his winning grin, with a wink thrown in. "Just a little sleepy, I guess."

"Exciting night for you?"

America was sure he was just imagining that tinge of jealousy in England's voice. "Not really. I just didn't sleep great. I should talk to my advisers about springing for a room that's fit for human habitation."

"Then what _did_ you do last night? I can't imagine you spent the evening preparing notes." England sniffed and drummed his fingers across the agenda in front of him.

America had intended to reply, but he was suddenly struck by something he hadn't prepared for: the accent. That awful, beautiful accent that comprised so many impossibly intricate variations, each of which were expressed when the occasion called for it. He wanted to hear more. He wanted to hear it reciting lyrics and beautiful verse. _Whispering softly against his skin._

Oh.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong. America had been around this voice for such a long time, he should have been used to it by now. He'd grown up around it, broken away from it, been berated by it. He heard it shout obscenities at him on a weekly basis. He shouldn't be so entranced, and yet he couldn't stop replaying England's question in his head, analyzing every nuance.

It wasn't just the voice, either. It was a soft crease in that brow. Hands that were weathered and masculine, yet graceful and poised. Unbelievably green eyes, like emeralds glinting in the-

Holy _shit_. The gun had worked.


	2. Chapter 2

"What on earth is wrong with you?"

England's shout brought America back from his horrifying revelation.  
"Huh?" he replied stupidly, mouth slack.

"I asked a simple question and you completely ignored me. Does my attention mean so little to you?"

America cast his eyes downward and fumbled with his fingers.  
"Oh. 'Msorry," he mumbled. After waiting a moment, he looked up to find England staring at him as though he'd sprouted a second head. Fortunately, the meeting was called to start before England could question further.

For the first time in a long time, America was unsure of himself. Actions that would have been bold statements were now vague questions. When called on for his opinion, he stuttered. _Stuttered_. He, the United States of America, stuttered during an official meeting. He half expected the Earth to quake in response.

No wonder the military had been so keen to investigate his idea. Even though Japan doubted it, America was sure that if such technology made people feel like this, it could crumble the fiercest armies.

The other nations seemed to sense that something was off, and called on him less. They all had the occasional bad day. Or year. Or century. America sank into his chair and folded his arms stiffly, concentrating on the reflection in the conference table for as long as he could. He could feel a set of eyes on him, burning into his consciousness like flames, but he didn't dare check to see if they were emerald green.

During the lunch break, before anyone had a chance to talk to him, he bolted out the door and into the sunlight. His head was pounding from the bright light as he padded along the pavement. He instantly regretted not bringing his custom Ray-Bans with him, and he ducked into the closest convenience store to find a cheap pair of clip-on sunglasses. They looked kind of lame but he wasn't in the right frame of mind to give a damn. He emerged from the store with a smidgen of confidence and sanity regained, and walked straight into Canada.

"HEY! Watch where you're going!" America yelled.

"You're the one who crashed into me," Canada mumbled. He brushed his suit off and took a moment to study America's strained expression. "Is something wrong? You were acting strange this morning."

They started to walk along the street, winding around a nearby city park.

"Jeez, are you stalking me now?" America asked with a pout.

Canada ignored his accusation. "Are you having Palin tremors again?"

He shivered. "Eugh. No, it's nothing political. Kinda. I'm just having a weird day; you know how it is."

Canada nodded and lowered his head. They walked in silence for a few minutes, occasionally pushing their glasses up in near-unison, until Canada spoke again.

"We're neighbours, Al. You can tell me what's wrong."

"I hate it when you do that," America insisted, shoving his hands angrily in his pockets.

Canada raised his voice, though it was still soft and ineffectual. "Your problems tend to affect me too. I have a right to know if something's going on."

America shook his head. "Not _that_. I hate it when you use the 'u'. Bugs the shit outta me."

"Th-the what? The 'you'?"

"The 'u'. I hate it when you put the 'u' in neighbor. Or favorite. It's dumb."

Canada stopped walking and rubbed his forehead. "How is...you can't _read_ what I'm saying."

America kept walking, his pout more pronounced. "I can feel it."

There was a tug at the corner of Canada's lips as he caught up to America. "Ah. So this is about Arthur."

America almost tripped over his own feet, but quickly regained composure. "What? No! I was just telling you that it annoys me. Don't turn it into something else!"

Canada smiled in that obnoxiously perceptive way that pissed America off. "Did you finally make a move?"

"A move? Move on what? What are you talking about?"

With a sigh, Canada wondered whether this was worth it. Then he noticed how tight America's fist was clenched. Oh yes, this was worth it.

"Sorry, I thought you'd figured it out. Nevermind."

America ran in front of Canada and blocked his path.

"Figured _what_ out, Matt? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Before Canada could respond, a cheerful alarm went off on his phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the time. The assembly hall where their meetings were being held was just barely in sight from where they were standing.

"Sorry, we should be getting back. I'm gonna go." He leaned forward and squeezed America's forearm affectionately. "Good luck."

America tried to object, but Canada was already power-walking back to the building. He started to stroll leisurely along the sidewalk, studying the patches of sunlight on the ground below and thinking about Canada's puzzling behavior.

Why was Canada acting so shady? What did it have to do with England?  
Why did it feel like he was missing out on something important?

He took his time walking back, considering these issues that were threatening his way of life, and got a rude awakening in the form of a statue that suddenly appeared in front of him. He walked head-on into the stone figure with a loud thud, and sank to his feet, holding his head. Crouching on his heels, he breathed slowly until he could stand again. His clip-on sunglasses were scratched to hell now, but the sun was still too bright for his eyes and he felt woozy.

America realized that he was just in front of his building and quickly made his way inside, holding his head. He was aware that the meeting had already resumed, but he ducked into the bathroom to clean up. Flipping his sunglasses up, he leaned forward to inspect the damage.

Compared to his appearance just a few hours earlier, he was a shameful mess. There was blood on his forehead where skin had connected with stone. The clip-ons made him look like a middle-aged father at the Boardwalk. Worst of all, he looked downright vulnerable. He couldn't exactly place it, but something in his face made him look lost. It was exactly what he'd feared.

He dampened a paper towel and dabbed the blood away, revealing a shallow wound. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it was clearly visible and stung like hell. After cleaning his injury, he yanked the clip-on shades off his glasses, thrust them into his pocket and checked his face again, smiling at himself and trying to see if he was still able to fake some confidence. His attempts were sad and disheartening.

Maybe he was just overthinking everything. He'd expected to be affected by the gun, he knew his relationship with England wasn't exactly normal, and now he'd tricked himself into thinking he was in love or something. That could happen, right? He'd psyched himself out. If he just stopped focusing on it, maybe the problem would go away.

The clock on the wall said that he was nearly 15 minutes late, so he shot his reflection a pathetic-looking wink and hurried towards the meeting room.

His arrival was met with a chorus of groans and yells from a room that had obviously been waiting for him to show up. He kept his head down and ran to his seat.

"What were you thinking, keeping us waiting like that?" England grumbled as the next nation got up to speak. "I swear, you are the most self-centered, exasperating creature on the planet."

America tried to leave his mind blank and impenetrable to devious mental influences. He turned to England, determined to test his theory. The look of concern when England noticed his injury cancelled out his efforts, and replaced any emptiness with a series of somersaults in his stomach.

England leaned forward. "Blimey, are you alright?"

America's throat went dry, but he managed to creak out a reply. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just went for a walk and bumped my head."

Quickly and unobtrusively, England brushed some stray hairs away from America's forehead so he could see the full extent of it.

However, from America's perspective, everything happened in slow motion. He saw the softness in England's eyes and felt the warmth from his fingertips. The brief contact was almost too much.

"I'll see if I have any plasters," England said.

America calmed down a little as he watched England pull out a brown leather briefcase. Before he could stop himself, he spoke up. "Why would I have to plaster-"

England shot him a look.

"Oh. Right. Band-aid."

The briefcase was opened and England began to rustle through it.

"Why do you keep band-aids in your briefcase?" America asked, sounding amused. The words came as natural as breathing.

"Is there something wrong with that?" England said in a mildly irritated tone.

"I dunno, it just seems kind of unnecessary."

"Well _excuse me_ for being prepared," England snipped.

"You're excused." America grinned at his own joke. "Prepared for what? In case one of your reports gets a boo-boo?"

"It's not unreasonable to think one might get a paper cut."

"Oh, right. You gotta watch out for those. If you don't take care of it right away they'll have to chop your whole hand off."

"Ungrateful little twat," England said in a low, dangerous tone. Before England could throttle America, someone across the table cleared their throat, and both men noticed that they were being glared at quite intensely. England shut his briefcase violently and turned away in a huff. America looked away too, but a slight smile sprung up on his face.

Yes, this was normal. This was how it was supposed to feel, and their friendship worked well this way. Why else would they have fallen so easily into the pattern of argument? A little debate was good and healthy. If he could just fend off the mushy feelings, he might be okay after all.

He saw England out of the corner of his eye, and a pang of sadness struck him hard. The poor man looked even more deflated and melancholy than when he'd entered the room that morning. It made America's skin prickle.

Maybe he'd been too harsh. England was only trying to help, and America had mocked him. He hadn't considered England's feelings at all. Was it possible that he'd gone too far? Was it possible he'd been…wrong? A wave of guilt passed over him.

This had to stop. He was turning into a total wuss.

After the meeting ended for the day, he made his way around the city, trying to find the loudest bar he could. He finally settled at a sports bar and tried to concentrate on a game, but random things kept reminding him of England.

A union jack on someone's coat. Harry Potter TV spots. Someone sat down a few stools away and ordered a martini, prompting a flashback to a memorable night when they got wasted together and stumbled arm-in-arm down the streets of central London. America had passed out in Trafalgar Square and woken up to a crew of policeman trying to coax a half-naked England down from the statue of George IV, while England accused them of being "bloody cunting scoundrels" and insisted that it was his right to be up there. Yeah, they'd had some good times.

Finding little respite from his troubles, he sucked down a shot of whiskey before making his way back to the hotel and buying a first aid kit at the guest shop.

He threw his briefcase on the table once he was finally in his room, removed his coat and tie and dropped onto the bed, only to yelp and stand up again. He'd rolled onto the sunglasses in his pocket and been poked in the side. It seemed the day was going to do its darndest to end as badly as it had started.

With a loud clang, the clip-ons were in the trash can. After affixing a band-aid to his forehead, he spread out on the bed and stared at the window for a long time. The view passed from day to night as he watched. An idea hit him suddenly when he saw the silver case housing the gun. He rolled onto his back, pulled out his phone and dialed his assistant's number.

After some small talk, he asked her if she could get him the number of one of the scientists working on the project. He started pacing around the room restlessly while waiting for her to sort it out. She called him back ten minutes later with someone's personal number, and after thanking her profusely he dialed like a madman.

A trickle of relief entered his mind. He should have thought of this yesterday. _Of course_ the scientists leading the project would have a solution. A man answered the phone and America immediately launched into an explanation of the incident while gesticulating wildly for the benefit of the empty room. He conveniently excluded the fact that he himself had been at the receiving end of the gun's power.

"So, how do we fix it?" America asked finally, out of breath. "Do you have a reverse raygun or something?"

"I-I'm afraid we don't have anything readily available, Mr. Jones." The scientist sounded very perplexed by the question. "We can certainly look into it."

"'Look into it'? How long will that take?" There was an edge of anxiety creeping into America's voice. He stood in the middle of the room, as still as the air.

"I'm not sure. First we'll have to establish if it's possible to directly reverse the condition, and then we'll need to run some tests."

"Possible?" The anxiety became hysteria.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jones. You were given instructions not to discharge the weapon."

"It was an accident! Why did you let me take something so dangerous in the first place?"

"We listed the risks, but you refused to leave our office without a prototype. I believe your exact words were: 'I don't care, I want my homo-gun'."

America had no recollection of this encounter, or using the Virginia accent the scientist was imitating. He stayed silent for some time.

"Sir," the scientist asked after America hadn't responded. "Sir, I'm sorry. I didn't mean any disrespect, but that _is_ what happened. We'll look into this problem for you. There's also a good chance that the condition could go away on its own."

"Really?" America breathed.

"It's possible. If we discover anything, we'll contact you."

America thanked him for his help and hung up the phone in trance-like state. His hotel room was dark, lit only by the city lights near his window. He sank down slowly onto the bed.

What was he going to do? Despite what everyone thought, he was a hard worker. If he couldn't concentrate on anything, if he let it affect who he was, if he couldn't stop thinking about…

What could he do?

Another glance at the metal case made him feel sick. If this was what being in love with a nation felt like, he wanted nothing to do with it. He just wanted to be himself again.

The evening passed as America lay in darkness, simply thinking. New memories came forth, and he was surprised at just how many there were. So many periods of sadness and joy and friendship that ran through his mind. He almost didn't notice the transition from memory to dream.

He opened his eyes and gazed across an open field filled with bright lights and music. It felt so very familiar. Unlike most of the other memories, he couldn't quite grasp onto it. Even though it felt like he was living it, the dream was not under his control. He took a step and felt the rush of the music and people around him, and heard that voice. England was standing next to him, looking slightly annoyed, trying hard to pretend he didn't want to be there. Yes, it was all familiar. He remembered this night, and it couldn't have been more than fifteen years ago. He'd taken England here to celebrate something…something silly and trivial, but it had felt important to him. However, he couldn't figure out why he was reliving this memory. It hadn't been a particularly extraordinary night. He wasn't even sure why he remembered it so well.

They were moving now, walking past the booths and the games and all the greasy, delicious food. America pointed excitedly at the fortune teller, but England glared at him and started walking faster. When they got to the merry-go-round, America wouldn't take "no" for an answer. England chose a unicorn, and flushed slightly when America snorted at his choice. After a few undignified attempts to mount the wily metal beast, England was forced to take America's proffered hand in assistance while ranting that the "irons" weren't in the right place. America didn't know whether the fluttering in his heart and the warmth in his cheeks were part of the dream or the memory. He did recall the look that England had given him, and he knew that they were both thinking about how much had changed since the day England had given America his first riding lesson.

Once America was on his horse (seahorse, technically), the ride started and his energy was carried on the movement of it. He cheered and hollered, pumping his fist into the air and leaning back as though it was a real animal. A glance at his riding partner revealed a small smile on England's lips, though it was swiftly replaced with a frown when America's gaze was spotted. Still, America knew that England was enjoying himself on some level, and that boosted his energy even further.

The next hour or so became a blur of spun sugar and swirling lights and colors. The haze was quite literal; a dreamlike echo of feelings and senses and space. They went on several rides, punctuated by snippets of America insisting that they go on another ride, or go on the same ride again, and grumbles from England saying "no" and "absolutely not" and "maybe once more".

At the end of the night, they finally made their way to the Ferris wheel. They climbed into a passenger car and settled in. England made America promise that it would be the last ride of the night. The wheel slowly started to turn, and they sat in silence, watching the busy world around them.

America remembered clearly what had happened next. In the awkward silence he had tried to rock their car back and forth, prompting England to yell at him. It turned into a tepid argument about the concept of "fun". They left soon afterward, America dropped him off at his hotel and a couple of days later he was gone. Not the worst ending to a visit, but not particularly thrilling.

That had been the reality. The dream went in a different direction. As they ascended in the Ferris wheel, they moved closer together. England made a comment about it being a chilly night. His hand was now on America's thigh, sweet and intimate. The moon shone softly on their faces as they leaned in close, soaring over the treetops. The kiss was soft and sweet, reconciling their past and everything that had separated them. Now America knew why it was this memory. It was what he'd wanted to happen. It was everything he'd wanted, and he was pretty sure it had always been this way, even then. His eyes felt heavy and though he tried to hold back, the tears formed anyway. He cried because it was frustrating, and he was so lonely and he couldn't say what he wanted to say. The words had never formed on his lips or in his mind, but only in his heart.

And now he was holding England's face gently, studying it in the moonlight. The closer he got, the hazier the dream became. A teardrop was rolling down England's cheek, but it had fallen from America. England stared up at him with confusion and concern, but then smiled with such warmth that America didn't think he would ever be sad again. Now England was moving closer, reaching up to kiss the tears away.

America woke with a jolt. He wiped a finger against the corner of his eye and then stared at the moist fingertip. At first he felt numb, but the terror soon set in.

This was the last straw. Now the gun was playing dirty, bringing up stupid memories that had no relevance to his life. He wasn't going to take it anymore.

Today was going to be his day.  
He was going to dominate the meeting and impress the world with his supreme skills.  
He would be so amazing that they would all forget about their troubles and stand in awe of his political prowess.  
He was…already late.

The glowing numbers mocked him. He grabbed his tie and his jacket and ran out the door.

Notes:  
- Ray-Bans. You know he rocks a pair of these babies.  
- Clip-on sunglasses: frequently worn by Dads in Shorts  
- To clarify, the Palin thing isn't meant to imply anything about Alfred's personal political leanings. It's just a topic that people all over the country are aware of, and tend to have _very_ strong feelings about, and I think that divide could manifest itself in Alfred's life.  
- Canadian English has elements of both American and British English. Traitors. (j/k ilu Canadabros)  
- Band-aids = plasters = band-aids.  
- George IV statue in Trafalgar Square. Looks very ride-able, especially with beer goggles.  
- Irons = stirrups, where you're supposed to put your foot when mounting a horse  
- Ferris wheels are awesome but terrifying  
- I tried to research the little details, but if there's anything glaringly inaccurate then I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Sorry for the long wait, I was on a trip! Next chapter won't take as long, promise. 

America tried to erase the dream from his mind as he ran down the street, dodging citizens. He usually didn't remember his dreams, but this one was going to stay with him.

With one last burst of energy he crashed through the large double doors. There were a few perturbed glares, but the overall reaction was surprisingly mild. He realized that there were two empty seats next to Japan. England hadn't shown up yet. Whatever, he didn't care. He was feeling great and fine and his heart was beating unnaturally fast and it had nothing to do with the thought of seeing England.

He grinned widely, ignoring the people who stared at him, and took his seat.

"Ah, America-san," Japan whispered.

America turned to Japan with an intense smile, trying much too hard to appear mentally sound. "Yes? I don't care where he is, if that's what you're asking."

"O-okay." Japan's voice got even quieter as he shrunk back. "There's a bandage falling off your head."

America paused and then quickly tore off the loose band-aid, ignoring the flare of humiliation that followed. He smiled even wider, and his lips barely moved as he spoke. "Why thank you, Kiku. Do you know when the meeting will start?"

Japan shook slightly when he spoke, disturbed by the intensity of America's false cheerfulness.  
"When England-san is ready to start his speech. He is on the phone right now."

"The speeches!" America exclaimed, receiving many angry shushes in response. He'd completely forgotten about the speeches. Nations had the option of giving a report on some contemporary topic relevant to their population. It was a tradition that they'd been following for years now, more for show than anything else. However, for nations with a large store of influential power, it was socially mandatory.

America tried to find the agenda in his briefcase to see what England was reporting on this year, only to discover that his briefcase had cleverly hidden itself in his hotel room. He'd left virtually everything of importance back at the hotel aside from his wallet and a ball of lint. When he finally inspected his own clothing, he saw that his suit was severely wrinkled, his shoes were scuffed and his tie had an upsetting stain on it. He looked like he'd been trampled by a herd of wild moose and then forced to sleep in a box.

Just when he thought to ask Japan for a look at the agenda, the doors flew open and England walked briskly to his seat. His eyes were tired, but he was in better shape than before. His lip was curled just a bit, and it wasn't hard to guess who he'd been talking to. England consulted with his siblings as infrequently as possible, but when they were forced to speak it always showed.

His head started to turn, so America put on his best "I'm awesome and I don't care who knows it" grin. England just blinked at him apathetically and looked away. America told himself that the sinking feeling in his heart had nothing to do with this.

They waited for just a few more minutes as Greece lazily wrapped up his report. America noticed that England's leg was bouncing impatiently, which had a tendency to happen when Greece was talking. England was too much of a gentleman to say anything, but America knew which of his body movements signaled irritation. He'd always ignored it before because England was constantly pissed off at him no matter what he did, so what did he care? But this time, he couldn't help thinking that those tics were maybe kind of…cute. He wondered what would happen if he just reached under the table and put a hand on top on that knee. What would England think? What would he do?  
Wait.

No! He wasn't supposed to think about this stuff anymore! He had to start acting like himself again, or pretty soon he'd be drowning in-  
Damn, England had a sweet ass. How had he not noticed that before? Maybe it was just the crisp tailored suit he was wearing that day, but _damn_.  
America watched _very_ closely as England made his way to the podium.

England's restrained confidence, and the pride he exuded with every move, was admirable. He probably deserved to be proud. Most of the nations didn't bother to write speeches on their own, but America had no doubt that England had written and researched every single aspect himself. England would never use someone else's words as if they were his own.

"Sorry for the delay. This talk is about a significant part of my legacy, and one which I take very seriously: conservation and restoration." England delivered his speech with efficiency and power, addressing the history of preservation efforts in his country and that of his siblings, and detailing recent significant changes and yearly statistics.

England had officially represented the entire United Kingdom at meetings since its creation. He insisted it was because his siblings were generally too drunk to make it and couldn't be counted on, but everyone knew it was because they would rather let him represent them formally than be forced to spend hours in a room with him.

He talked about the National Trust and other charitable organizations, government run programs like English Heritage, Cadw and Historic Scotland, and spoke proudly of his cooperation with UNESCO and of his World Heritage Sites. The professional-looking PowerPoint slideshow helped to illustrate many of his major historical sites. The way he pronounced many of the oldest (or Welsh) sites left a goofy smile on America's face.

Being able to sit and listen to England talk was like a piece of heaven. He mentally smacked himself a few times for giving in so easily, but the opportunity to ogle was too great. As the talk wound down, America was surprised that many nations looked less-than-enthralled by the speech. They clapped when it was over, but only a few seemed to have been listening throughout.

On the outside, England didn't appear to be fazed by this. He was probably used to receiving little recognition for his speeches, and America was flooded with sadness when he recalled how often he himself had belittled the effort that England put into his work. He'd never intended to be malicious, but from this angle his teasing seemed borderline abusive. No wonder England was always snapping at him.

Just moments after England took his seat again, America tapped on his shoulder tentatively.

England turned with a confused look.

"Hey. Good speech," America said. England narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I thought it was really interesting." Eyes narrowed even more. America chattered on quickly and nervously. "I-I've been to some of those places, right? Stonehenge for sure. I remember that 'cause you let me touch one of them and told me that story about the people in robes, or something like that. And I know we drove to Lacock that one time, cause you kept yelling at me for making jokes about the name and then I lost my lucky buffalo nickel and found it in the trunk. It was '76, I think."

England leaned back in his chair, absolutely baffled. "Good god, you're serious."

"Yeah, it was totally lucky! Remember how that guy gave us his leftover fries?"

England ignored the inane rambling and focused on this shocking revelation. "You actually paid attention to my presentation," he said softly, as though it would make more sense if he said it out loud.

America smiled with uncharacteristic shyness. "Heh, well yeah. You put a lot of work into it and everything. It was really good."

Dense as he was, even America noticed the deep blush that covered England's features. Before he could say anything, America was pre-emptively shushed by several people at once, and the meeting moved forward. He leaned away from England and saw that several of his colleagues were giving him the same annoying look that Canada had, like they all shared some amusing secret. He was struck by the urge to shake every last one of them until they gave it up.

The meeting continued and when America chanced a glimpse of his neighbor, he noticed that England's ears were still bright red. He closed his eyes and tried to squash his sudden, overwhelming need to nibble on them.

When they finally adjourned for the day, America stayed back and made small talk with Japan. The room never cleared out right away, as private conversations took over and people made plans for the evening. England had gotten up pretty quickly, and when he did America breathed more easily. Japan looked as though he wanted to say something, but restrained himself. Japan never said what he meant anyway, so America didn't push it.

He spoke easily with Japan, and was on the verge of clearing his mind of his stupid romantic problems when he heard an unmistakable laugh in the distance. Without even thinking about it, he turned to see where England had gone to and what he was laughing at. When his eyes settled on England, he dreamily pondered how those choppy bangs managed to look so soft and appealing. For a moment, all he could see was England, highlighted with a supernatural glow among the room full of chatting nations. Then he noticed that England was not alone. He appeared to be talking quite animatedly with Spain.

Spain. And he was laughing, and blushing ever-so-slightly, and _did he just touch Spain's hand?_

Another emotion was brewing. Something new and uncomfortable, rising in his throat, and it made America feel like spitting acid. Pure, raging jealousy.

"…asked me why I was wearing cat ears, but it seemed appropriate for the setting. I think he may have-"

"Sorry Japan, I've gotta scram. We'll finish this later, I promise."

"O-okay. Good luck with your presentation tomorrow," Japan replied, but America was already out of earshot.

That _whore_. That devious, heartless excuse for a nation. How dare he flirt so openly for the whole world to see. That Mediterranean _jerk_, thinking he was soooo much better than everyone else with his beaches and paella and glorious, glorious ass. He was probably trying to corrupt England's poor, vulnerable soul. Someone had to do something.

America slid with his back against the wall, trying to be covert and getting strange looks as he scooted slowly past a group of Nordics, never taking his eyes off England and Spain. With a cheeky grin, Denmark poked America in the head several times, but the sneaking nation didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he dove onto the ground and pushed himself forward with his elbows as if he was in a military training course. Once safely under the table, he moved like a snake through the darkness, avoiding legs and listening closely until he heard the conversation he was looking for. Spain's voice came into focus, so America halted abruptly and then scooted forward just a little more so he could listen in. After a few seconds, he wanted to scream.

They were speaking Spanish. Both of them. England's Spanish accent sounded ridiculous (and adorable), but it was definitely him. America listened for a few more agonizing minutes until he couldn't take it anymore.

He popped up from under the table without warning and hovered over Spain, placing a hand firmly on his shoulder. England yelped and Spain looked up with a benign smile.

"Hey, how's it going," America said slowly, his unnaturally wide grin returning. Before either nation could answer, he grabbed the nearest chair and pulled up between them. "Looks like you're having a fun little party here. So what're we talking about? Sounded like you were speaking in Spanish. _Donde está la biblioteca_, am I right?"

England looked astounded and somewhat mortified. "America, what are you-"

"Not that I'd want to interrupt, of course. I mean, we wouldn't want to ruin such an _intimate_ little conversation, now would we." He leaned over to Spain, fixing him with a stony glare. Spain continued to smile, but seemed just a little unsettled. "That would just be _awful_, wouldn't it." Every word was like a searing hot knife just waiting to be introduced to Spain's throat.

England attempted to interject again. "I don't know what you're getting at, but we're not-"

"Say, didn't you guys used to fight each other? Like, a lot? So what's with the buddy-buddy going on here? Just seems a little fishy, if you don't mind me sayin'." For some reason, America was starting to sound like a gangster.

"How could we hold these meetings if we couldn't talk to nations we've warred with? Even you and I couldn't speak."

America knew that it was wrong on some level, but the logic part of his brain had shorted out ages ago. Japan's argument about love being strength suddenly made a lot more sense. He felt like he would do anything to protect England's honor.

"No, no, it's fine. We're all friends here." America slapped Spain on the back with so much force that he fell out of his chair. England gasped and pushed forward to help him up. After asking Spain if he was all right, and some unnecessary touching, England glowered at America.

"I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but you would do well to keep yourself under control." England's tone was dangerous, but America didn't seem to register this.

America paused and, for a second, it seemed that he might have realized his mistakes. He addressed England with complete sincerity. "You know he has a lisp, right?"

England rolled his eyes and grumbled. Spain looked as though he was finally about to join the conversation.

"Oh, you've got something to say? _Say it, churro-breath._"

England slammed his hand onto the table. "ALFRED JONES, what is wrong with you?"

This reaction brought America back to reality, and he answered with a sheepish grin, but it was too late. England was seething.

"What makes you think it's okay to talk to people like that?"

America blanched. "I…um. I didn't mean to-"

"You interrupt and insult and throw your weight around without giving it a second thought!"

"I'm sorry! I just wanted to make sure that you were safe!"

England answered with an ice cold stare. "Don't. I've heard your excuses before, so just…leave me alone."

England apologized profusely to Spain, grabbed his briefcase and stormed away, leaving America in shock. The entire room was silent in the wake of the outburst. America slouched in the chair as he tried to understand what had just happened. After a short reflection, he started to realize how terrible he'd been. He focused on apologizing to Spain so he wouldn't have to think about the look of shame and disappointment on England's face.

"Wow. I am so sorry. I have no idea what came over me, but I totally wasn't thinking."

"It's okay." Spain's expression was warm, despite what had just happened. "I understand." A smile appeared on his face and made America shudder, because it was _that_ look again. Like there was some big entertaining secret that everyone was privy to except for him. And it had to be a big one, because normally Spain was oblivious as fuck. He apologized a few more times and then left quickly.

On the way back he grabbed some McDonald's, but even the sweet, sweet taste of globalization couldn't distract him from his crushing depression. Once inside his room, he found his briefcase and threw it on the bed before tearing his wrinkled clothes off in anger. His day was once again ending in frustration, but this time it was entirely his own fault. He'd promised himself a great day, and now he was sad and tired and looked awful, and worst of all, England hated him. When he thought about what he'd just done, it felt as though his blood was curdling. He was really starting to feel the "sick" part of "lovesick".

He decided to busy himself instead. While he knew that he was set to give a presentation at some point, he wasn't sure when it was. Suddenly, an idea came to him. Maybe he could use this as a chance to impress England, and to show him that he could be respectful and serious and that he cared about all this crap. He opened his briefcase eagerly and searched for the speech, trying to remember what it was about. He flipped through pages and secretly hoped that the topic was something that he could really shine with. Something that he excelled in and could give an awesome report on, like technology or entertainment or parades or…

Education.  
God_damnit_.

The one time he actually cared, the _one time_ this stupid tradition might actually be useful, and he'd gotten _education_. He cursed whoever had assigned the topics that year and collapsed onto the bed, skimming the pages while lying on his back. He was almost ready to go to sleep when he noticed the scheduled date of the presentation. His scream of rage could be heard blocks away.

He awoke in the morning after just a few restless hours of sleep, having spent most of the night rehearsing his speech and leaving anxious messages for a certain team of scientists. The benefit of sleeping in his underwear meant that he remembered to put on clean clothes this time, but even a nice new suit couldn't compensate for the broken look in his eyes. He pulled at his skin with his face inches from the mirror and had a minor internal breakdown when he thought he saw some wrinkles. After so many years and so many conflicts, he'd barely showed his age. It appeared this sole experience was turning him into an old man.

America paced the room, looking over his notes and the changes that he'd made, and downed several cups of coffee. When he was sure that he couldn't stand to say "academic" one more time, he gathered up his things, double and triple checking every item, and left for the meeting.

The walk to the assembly hall was a harrowing journey. His heart was close to pounding out of his chest with all the nervous energy he'd built up, and he was hyper-aware of every sound and movement around him. He hadn't felt like that since the 60's.

When he walked through the doors, he was surprised to see that the room was barely half-full. It was earlier that he'd thought, and the people milling about the room seemed just as surprised to see him. He tried on his confident grin but it felt so hollow and fake that he couldn't physically keep it up. He ambled over to Japan and slumped over the table, putting his head down and mumbling nonsensically. Japan didn't bother asking if America was alright this time, and simply waited until he started talking.

"I just…I don't know what to do, Kiku. I don't think I can take this much longer, but I'm running out of options." He didn't expect Japan to know what was going on, but he had to ramble at someone.

Japan shifted in his seat and looked down at his hands. "Mmm, well, you could write him a letter, perhaps? Tell him your feelings and leave it under his papers when he comes in. There's an attractive fountain nearby where you can tell him to meet you. Or you could go to his hotel room and confess and then you'll look in his eyes and hold his hand a-and then your abiding love can bloom and…ah…well…" Japan flushed and wriggled with a reserved smile. America stared at him blankly.

"What are you…and how do you know it's…do you even know who we're talking about, here?"

Japan slowly turned his eyes toward the door, where England had recently entered and was talking to Germany.  
Wait, Germany? Why was he talking to Germany? That sausage-loving, lederhosen-wearing whor-

"Please calm down," Japan said softly as America glared with gritted teeth and balled fists.

"Oops. Sorry. Hey, how did you know it's…you-know-who." He tilted his head towards England without looking, knowing now that it would only lead to trouble.

Japan opened his mouth but didn't say anything. He was on the verge of revealing the big secret when America slammed his fist into his palm.

"I've got it! It's the 'special relationship', right? Like, we're close allies so you assume that I would be attracted to him. Is that it? I wouldn't blame you for thinking that, since we have such a close history."

Japan closed his mouth after a moment and nodded. He was clearly doing it to placate America, but the frantic nation seemed satisfied. Of course, America's explanation wasn't quite correct, but Japan thought it would be best to let this run its course. He would figure it out in time.

America was silent after that, waiting anxiously for the meeting to start, and for England to take his seat. To his relief, England willingly sat next to him. To his disappointment and soul-crushing sorrow, England refused to look at him.

Once the meeting had officially begun, America was eventually called to the podium. He got halfway there before remembering that his notes were still at his seat. This was not the start he had hoped for, and he could swear that several nations were already whispering about him.

When he was standing at the front of the room, he suddenly felt very tiny. He paused unnecessarily before starting. "So, uh, what's up? Is everyone feeling good? I'm America, in case you didn't know. I'll be your speech-giver today."

Dead silence. Under normal circumstances, he would breeze through something like this with just a few glances at the papers in front of him. Though, thinking about it more clearly, he usually didn't stick to the topic of the speech at all. He would talk about whatever was on his mind, and although the more serious nations would glare and grumble, he had the charisma to pull it off with few complaints. Now he was actually trying, and it wasn't going well. At least he had the attention of the crowd.

He stumbled through the talk, starting with his history of education and its link with religious studies, eventually getting to the structure of contemporary education for his people, including the difference between public and private school systems, various age divisions and testing standards. When he got around to worldwide rankings and recent public policy, his voice was noticeably shaded with embarrassment. It wasn't too terrible and yet, for a country in his position, it wasn't that great.

The only good thing about the speech was that England still refused to look at him through most of it. The one time he looked up and saw those green eyes staring back he temporarily forgot he was giving a speech, and stood like an idiot until Japan cleared his throat.

In a way it was a disaster, but it was also the most earnest speech he'd given in years. He walked back to his seat and slumped down, glad that it was over. A part of him hoped beyond hope that England might congratulate or compliment him politely, or even tell him how horrible he'd been. England simply continued to ignore his existence, and America could feel his heart slowly shattering. He couldn't do this anymore. It was too much; everything was just too much. It was all he could do to keep from breaking down into a pathetic mess in front of his colleagues, but he somehow held it together.

When the lunch break came he walked to the park nearby and sat under a solitary tree, and for a while all he did was try to remember what it was like to run through the woods with nothing to worry about except scabby knees and stubbed toes. In the calm of the moment, he knew what this was all going to come down to.

America showed up just in time for the meeting to start. A few people avoided his gaze awkwardly, but he didn't care. He waited through the blur of nations talking and arguing, until it came time for the second short break. He had decided to make one more effort before he accepted his fate, though he wasn't overly hopeful. Without wasting time, he walked over and took a seat next to France.

"Yes?" France responded to America's abrupt confrontation.

"I need to ask you about something," America said, putting aside his normal teasing and joking. France signaled for him to continue with a wave of the hand. America replied in a hushed voice. "It's about…umm…well, it's about romance."

France leaned back with a self-satisfied look. "So you wish to learn from the master?"

America shifted uncomfortably. "I don't need to know _everything_. I just want to learn more about how to deal with it. How to handle the feelings and everything."

"Say no more. You are in the grip of love's torturous embrace and are in need of some advice?"

America leaned in closer and whispered. "Well, uh, kinda. I'm just really frustrated and-"

"And you must learn how to handle these emotions that are ravaging your soul!"

"Yeah," America replied.

"You wish to know the secrets of love's sweet melody…"

America shrugged. "I guess so?"

"…the rush of breath and burst of joy when you see your lover's face…"

"Yeah, that sounds good," America said thoughtfully.

"The majesty of two bodies entwined, slick with sweat and various other fluids…"

"Oh. What?"

"…writhing in ecstasy beneath love's might and grace."

"Ummm…"

France smirked. "You wish to understand love?"

"Yes!" America pumped his fist into the air in his enthusiasm. "So you'll help me?"

France smiled pleasantly. "Non, I think not."

America's face fell dramatically. "W-why not?"

"It would be…obscenely _cliché_."

"I…what?"

France leaned forward and put on an air of mock sympathy. "I am sorry, really, but I cannot do it."

"Cliché? What kind of bullshit is that? What are you…oh. Is that about what I said at the banquet? Cause honestly, I've been calling you that for _years_."

France stood up with a proud haughtiness and smiled grimly. "That may be, but this 'cheese-eating surrender monkey' has better things to do with his time. Au revoir."

For a moment America watched dumbfounded as France sauntered away. At the last minute, he had the peace of mind to shout, "Fine, just give up and walk away! It's what you're good at!"

As he fell back in his chair he heard a snort of laughter. He was shocked to see that England was looking at him from behind a newspaper with a sly grin on his face. America instinctively grinned back, and England went back to sipping his tea.

And just like that, his heart was whole again. He felt like he could fly through the ceiling if he wanted to. He rode the high for as long as his mind would allow, until the final hours of the meeting started and reality settled in.

Now he thought about his fate. Was this what it was going to be like? Living off those looks and tiny acknowledgments? And happy as he was, the truth began to loom over him, casting a gray cloud over his bliss. He was left with only one option. It was the last thing he wanted to do, and it was risky as hell, but it was the only hope he had. If he wanted to recover who he used to be – if he wanted a chance to live without his emotions constantly being at the mercy of another person – he would have to steel his nerves and confront his situation directly.

When he made the decision to go through with it, everything in his mind came to an eerily silent contentment. After the meeting was over, he sat alone and prepared himself.

When he was finally ready, he walked out of the room and down the hall, ignoring the strange looks from those he passed. He was on a mission to find the one person who could possibly help him. The one person who might have the powers to end his misery. It was now or never.

He knew where that person went after meetings. It was a small room near the back of the building, with large windows that opened to a thicket of trees outside. As he got closer, he could hear humming. The song sounded vaguely familiar, but he pushed that thought aside and kept going until he was standing outside the door. He gathered his last strains of courage and, with a deep breath, he walked into the room.

England looked up in surprise. There was a cup of tea and a large book on the table. America sat down next to him solemnly.

"Alfred, what are you doing here?" England asked.

America spoke slowly and carefully. "I need your help. There's something bothering me, and I think you might be able to do something about it."

England raised an eyebrow. "Well, what is it?"

America took another deep breath.  
"I need an antidote."

* * *

"Notes":  
- The stuff about the UK is how I reconcile the existence of England's siblings in canon with the fact that he's called the UK. There are lots of other possibilities; this is just how I do  
- Lacock: an awesome town with a hilarious name  
- I think modern day England has a bit of a Mancrush on Spain. Not in a full-on romantic way, but more of a 'hey man can I come over and hang out and we can go to the beach oh god you smell amazing' kind of thing.  
- Donde está la biblioteca? Me llamo T-Bone, la araña discoteca. Discoteca, muñeca, la biblioteca está en bigotes grandes, el perro, manteca. Manteca, bigotes, gigante, pequeño la cabeza es nieve, cerveza es bueno. Buenos Dias, me gusta papas frías, los bigotes de la cabra es Cameron Diaz.  
- The Castilian lisp isn't actually a lisp, but a sound that evolved in Spain and exists in some (but not all) Spanish dialects.  
- Mmmm, churros  
- I didn't mean for France's bit to be a dirty poem, but then it was and it couldn't not be that way

Thanks to Erin for her help.

I promise there will be sustained interaction between England and America in the next chapters, and not just ogling. But there will still be ogling.


	4. Chapter 4

"Antidote? An antidote to what?"

This is where it would get tricky, but America had prepared an appropriately clever excuse. "It's complicated. Something's been making me feel…something. And I don't want to feel…that."

England looked puzzled, and attempted to make sense of the explanation. "Something's been giving you unwanted thoughts?"

"Um, yeah. Basically."

"Do you know the source of the intrusion?"

America shifted awkwardly and stared at the table. After stark silence from America, England continued.

"But you do think it's supernatural? I thought you didn't believe in magic."

America hesitated and bit his lip. "Uh, well…there's a chance it could help, right?"

England frowned and replied bluntly. "I'm your last resort, aren't I."

America flinched. "A little bit."

For a full minute, England was silent, looking away in thought. America wasn't sure if he'd been rejected and was expected to leave, but eventually England spoke again. "I'll do what I can."

America looked into England's eyes with hopeful confusion. "You…what? Really?"

England paused cautiously before nodding. "I suppose, as your ally, it's in my own best interest to make sure you don't go mad."

"Oh. Well, awesome! What do you have in mind?"

"Perhaps if you explain the situation more in depth, I'll be able to do a bit of research so we don't walk into this blind."

America stopped talking again. An uncomfortable heat grew in his stomach and flared out to his extremities.  
England waited once again for America to start rambling about his problem, but only ended up with more dead silence.

"…or not," England said with a sigh.

America looked up awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I wish I could explain better, but I don't really understand it myself. I've just been having these feelings and they won't go away. I know these thoughts aren't mine." He knew his explanation wasn't completely accurate, but there was no way he was going to go any further than that.

England realized that this was most likely the best explanation he was going to get out of the distressed America. "Then we'll have to make do," he replied.

A huge smile of relief broke out on America's face. "Thank you so much! I don't know what I would have done if you'd told me to get out. I just want to feel normal again."

England flushed, obviously not used to receiving words of thanks from his ally. "You're quite welcome. I hope we'll be able to find some resolution to your problem."

"Why do you keep saying 'we' like that? I don't know anything about this stuff," America said curiously.

"Yes, but you have to participate. I'm not going to knock you unconscious and start casting spells."

"Right, I guess that makes sense."

"Most of these endeavors require a high degree of mental participation. If you don't make an effort, there's a good chance they won't have any effect."

America gulped. "Oh. I mean, I guess can do that. After all, I'm-"

England rolled his eyes and interjected. "-a hero. I know, I know."

"I was gonna say 'desperate', but that works too." America laughed darkly.

Leaning forward, England squinted and examined America. "Open vulnerability? Self-awareness?" He placed a palm against America's forehead. "Are you sure you aren't just ill?"

America froze at the touch. His cheeks turned scarlet and time seemed to slow down yet again. England ran his hand along one of America's cheeks and made a soft noise of concern.

"Your face _is_ a bit warm."

Once England drew back, America spoke anxiously. "I-I'm fine. I did have a cold, but that was months ago. This is definitely something else." The color in his cheeks deepened further.

"If you say so." England still looked worried, but changed the subject. "I suppose we can start with a potion. I'll have to gather supplies first, but I think I can have something prepared for tomorrow."

"You're going to make a potion? Do I have to drink it?" Memories of dinners past made America shudder at the thought.

In response, England held America's gaze with extreme severity. "Yes. I'm not just playing around for my own amusement. I've been doing this for a very, _very_ long time. While this isn't the most favorable setting for rituals, we'll have to make do with the constraints we're under, and that means you should listen to what I have to say, and follow my instructions carefully. If I tell you to concentrate, you should put all your effort into it. If I give you something to drink, you'll drink it. If I tell you to swallow, you'll swallow."

America was suddenly overcome with unwanted thoughts. He shivered and nodded a quick acknowledgement. Sensing that America was uncomfortable, England gently emphasized his point.

"I'm only saying that if this is going to work properly, you'll have to trust me. And remember to have patience: the answers may not reveal themselves straight away."

"That's okay. I know it'll be hard, but I'll try anything."

The determination in America's voice shone through despite his insecurities, and England could see that his resolve was strong. "Good. I'll start now before it gets too late."

Before he could stop himself, the infatuated part of his mind reached out at a desperate chance to spend more time with England. "Um, do you need any help finding stuff? I can look up stores or books for you. You're pretty helpless with electronics."

"That is a vicious lie," England said with a huff. "And no, I won't be needing any help. I know the area well."

America wasn't too happy about England's familiarity with Canada's landscape, but he bit back a snarl of jealousy. "Fine. When should we meet?"

"Let's meet in the park during the lunch break. You can use the rest of the day as a stressor to test the effects of the potion."

"Huh. That's an interesting idea, using the meeting as a stress test."

"You're always complaining about how stressful it is since they banned your handheld consoles," England pointed out.

"I just want to be able to PSP when it gets _really_ boring. I still don't see what the problem is," America remarked, forgetting his current troubles for past gripes.

"You refused to turn the sound off!"

"Well what's the point of playing if I can't hear it!"

England scoffed. "You're impossible."

"You're really uptight, and aren't we supposed to be planning a meeting?"

England started to gather his things. "Tomorrow. At the park. Be ready."

America didn't realize how tired he was until his bed was in sight and his legs almost gave out. He was mentally and physically exhausted, but there was a sense of harmony flowing through him. England, though part of the problem, had agreed to help him find a solution.

In the morning, he felt refreshed for the first time in days. He finally had hope, and that fact alone kept him calm through the morning. He barely felt his nerves until he was standing in front of the meeting hall. A tingle at his fingertips was the only reminder that something was off. He took his seat and gave pleasant looks to those around him. To his colleagues this appeared just as suspicious as his insecurity and paranoia, but it didn't bother him. Then England arrived.

A deep shudder passed through America's body, jolting him back to a state of pathetic infatuation. England greeted him with a soft smile and America responded with a nonsensical wheeze. England politely ignored it and started situating himself. During this moment, America noticed that England smelled different. It took him a minute or so to figure out that it was probably because of the ingredients England had acquired for the potion, but this realization was not nearly as interesting as the fact that America apparently had a mental record of England's smells.

America counted the minutes until lunch on the large wall clock. Eventually, his head started to move with the direction of the hand, circling around again and again as the anticipation built. As soon as everyone started to get up, America was out of the building and running through the park, trying not to stumble over any children or pets. England showed up shortly after, walking at a normal pace despite the way America was bouncing on his heels at their meeting point.

Without any greeting, England removed a small blanket from his satchel and laid it down as though setting up for a lunch date.

"Hey, we should have a picnic sometime," America burst out without thinking as he sat on the blanket.

England gave him a perplexed look and continued taking things out of his bag. "I thought picnics were boring to you unless barbeque is involved."

"No! I just said that before cause I…um…I didn't want to go." The more complicated truth was that he had very pleasant memories of childhood picnics with England, and had always been afraid of stirring up those intense feelings. "You know, your food and everything. Not my thing."

"You like Scotch eggs," England said, not meeting America's gaze.

"Heh, well, that's only one thing. You know I eat a lot."

"You once said you could eat them until you 'explode like a supernova.'"

America chuckled uneasily and shrugged.

"Shall we proceed?" England asked, cutting through America's nervous response.

"Yeah, let's do that." America sat up straight and waited.

England took out a couple of containers, a mug and a tiny jar filled with brown powder. Seeing it spread out in front of him, America started to feel a bit restless. England poured a transparent liquid from one container to the other and swirled it vigorously. He then took a pinch of the powder and slowly rubbed his fingers over the concoction while whispering something that America couldn't understand. He carefully poured this mixture into the mug and handed it over to America.

"It's not cold, so you might not like the taste. Drink all of it."

America nodded and started to drink. It was lukewarm and had a strange consistency, but it definitely wasn't the worst thing England had ever made him consume.

"Not bad," America said after handing the mug back to England. "Kind of lemony."

England coughed and nodded. "Good. As long as you were able to drink all of it, the effects should be maximized."

"So what's it do?" America asked, and realized that this probably should have been his first question.

"Hopefully, it should make you feel like you're in control again."

America squinted. "What do you mean 'hopefully'? I thought you were supposed to be an expert at these things."

"I am," England said with a mildly offended look. "But people don't always feel the desired reaction. Individual body chemistry is a strong influence. It can't be helped."

"You didn't mention that before," America said, rubbing his hands together apprehensively.

England sighed. "You'll be okay. This is just the first attempt; even if it doesn't work, there are plenty of options left to explore."

"Okay. Well, thanks."

"You're welcome." England started to pack everything away as America stood up and stretched. "The effects, if any, should start within the next hour. Tell me if it does any good, and we'll continue from there."

The walk back to the meeting was unsettling, now that there was another foreign influence in America's body. He kept shaking his head, trying to get rid of the unease, but it didn't help.

At the start, the meeting was as boring as ever. China and Germany were leading an open discussion about something pointless, and America could feel his eyes glazing over almost immediately. Nearly twenty minutes into the discussion, America's eyes snapped wide open and he stood up.

"What are you doing?" he yelled to the room at large. Everyone turned and stared. China stopped mid-sentence.

He repeated himself. The nations started to look around at each other and whisper.

Germany started to counter. "America, what are you-"

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? We can't just sit around talking about sauerkraut and Funyuns when there's work to be done!" America raised his fist high and slammed it on the table, guaranteeing himself the attention of every last nation. "Someone talk to me, here! I need stats and specs and strategies if we're going to beat this thing!"

Nobody moved. America had that crazed look in his eye that usually accompanied some kind of disaster.

"Well, what're you all waiting for?" He pushed his chair out of the way and leapt over the table so he had the greatest access to the entire group. He pointed at a random person without even looking. "You, get me no less than two hundred soldiers ready and willing to die for their country."

Sealand blinked, shocked by this sudden demand. "Er…I don't think I'm meant to be here." He slid off his chair and easily slipped under the table, away from the grumbling England who was walking towards him.

America ignored this and pointed at someone else. "You, secure the perimeter and make sure no one gets in or out without me knowing."

Greece paused for a moment, then shrugged and left to fulfill his duty.

"And _you_," he said, pointing somewhere between Sweden and Finland, "get me the President of the United States of America." He said this with a swell of pride, as if he were starring in a grand Hollywood blockbuster.

"You, like, don't know your own boss' number?" Poland said with an amused snark in his voice.

"I lost it. That's not important now," America asserted with a flippant wave of his hand.

"How could yo-"

"NOT IMPORTANT. Let's clear a space here." He tossed aside the papers of the nation in front of him. Italy looked up from the destruction of his doodles with big, sad eyes and sniffed as though he was going to cry. As if on cue, Germany walked around to the middle of the table and stormed up to America.

"This is not an appropriate activity! Stop this at once or you will be made to leave!"

America chuckled, which became a booming laugh. "Don't you see? This is what they want! They want us to fight amongst our ranks and destroy ourselves from the inside. But you know what? I believe. I believe in the power of us and I know that we can do it if we try. Just look at how far we've come! We started as a rag-tag team of misfits but with a little bit of luck and _the power of friendship_, we've finally made it to the end. Now all I need to know is: are you with us, or against us?"

Germany spoke hesitantly after letting the bizarre pep talk sink in. "America, I don't know what you're talking about."

With the force of a gale storm, America slapped Germany right across the face.

"WITH US, OR AGAINST US."

Luckily he had chosen to take out his aggression on Germany, because anyone else would have flown across the room and crumpled into the wall. Germany just rubbed his cheek, looking confused and unsure of the proper response to such an attack.

Before anyone had time to react properly, America started the chaos up again.

"Hey you, bring me my briefcase!"

Thailand calmly ducked over to America's seat and brought the bag back with him. America clapped him on the shoulder in thanks, to which Thailand smiled serenely.

"I know I have the document in here somewhere." After a moment of digging, America brought out a large, colorful piece of paper. On closer inspection, it appeared to be a children's menu from a family diner. America flipped it over, pulled a small box of crayons from one of the pockets in his briefcase and got down to work. Italy suddenly looked very excited again.

"We'll start here," he said, pointing to a picture where he'd made a mark with the blue crayon, "and make our way to the rendezvous point."

"The Princess' Castle?" Canada asked dryly, reading the menu puzzle. Most of the nations had gotten out of their seats and were now crowding around the activity.

America waved dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. When we've got enough fire power, we'll move in for the kill, right _here_. Got it?"

"We start from the Fairy Grove, which, I guess, is this building," Canada said. "Then we meet the rest of our army at the castle, and defeat our enemy at the Dragon's Lair." Canada seemed to expect that any second now, America would realize how ridiculous it all sounded and snap out of it.

"Great. Sounds like you all know the plan, I guess it's time to assign positions." He started pointing at various people. "You'll be my backup, and you'll be my backup, and you'll definitely be my backup." When he came to England, he stopped. "You'll be by my side," he said after some thought. "Alright, let's get to it!" He turned around and slammed into something large and squishy. He reacted by performing a mangled karate chop move before pulling an imaginary gun from its imaginary holster.

"What is going on here, America?" came Russia's voice.

America eyed him cautiously, feeling a familiar rush of rivalry before remembering his current fight. "Look, I know we've had our differences in the past, but this isn't the time to deal with that. This fight is going to take everything out of us. It's true, some of us won't make it, so before we go in I just want you to know: you're super creepy, and I don't trust you as far as I could throw you." He tried to put his hand on Russia's shoulder, but removed it of his own volition after Russia gave him an eerie smile. He leapt back over the table and opened the double doors wide.

"Alright, everybody!" he yelled with his fist in the air. "Evil doesn't wait! Take your positions! On my word, we march! One, two, three….GO!" America ran out the door and disappeared. Nobody moved until, finally, Germany walked over and closed the doors. One by one, each nation went back to their seats, picking up debris along the way and putting their papers back in order. Sealand continued to hide in the corner and England rocked back and forth in his seat, slowly rubbing his temples.

"Will someone go and find Greece?" Germany asked.

"I-I'll do it," Japan said, quickly getting up and out of the room.

Germany addressed the rest of the room. "What are we going to do about America?"

"What can we do?" England was the first the respond, raising a few eyebrows. "It's not as though we can bar him from meetings."

"There's obviously something wrong with his mental state. If he continues to cause disruptions of this magnitude, I don't think we'll have a choice," Germany replied grimly.

England scoffed, drawing even more surprised looks. "As much as we'd all like to, er, take a break from him once in a while, it wouldn't be much of a world meeting without him. And really, we all have bad days."

"He's been acting strangely since the meetings started."

"But he hasn't been overly disruptive until now," England snapped back defensively. "If he does anything like this again, I'll take care of it."

Several nations snickered at England's defense of America, and most of them were giving England that familiar look of amusement. England was well acquainted with the look, and had dutifully ignored it over the years for the sake of his own sanity.

Germany and the rest of the nations seemed to agree that England would be responsible for calming America down after any more outbursts. Soon afterward, Greece and Japan showed themselves. After a few more minutes, America walked through the door looking dazed. His shirt was torn open and he had a slight limp.

"Hey, I think something weird just happened," he announced. After being met with many flat stares, he hobbled to his seat. He leaned over and whispered to England, "I don't think it worked."

Instead of glowering or rolling his eyes, England was staring at America's chest. He quickly averted his eyes and appeared to be embroiled in some internal struggle for whatever reason, so America left him alone.

When the meeting was over for the day, England pulled him aside before leaving.

"I apologize for what happened. I didn't think you would react to it so strongly," England said.

America was taken aback. "_You're_ apologizing? Maybe you're the one who's sick." He tried to use this as an excuse to touch England's cheek, but England was prepared and ducked swiftly out of the way.

"No, I'm quite alright. I know I was partially at fault, so I'm sorry. If you aren't afraid to try again, we could have another go at it this evening."

"Yeah, let's do it."

"Let's meet later on, perhaps around 6."

"In that little room you like?" America asked.

England blushed. "Yes. And it would be nice if you could change your clothes. The, erm, th-the spirits would prefer if you weren't unkempt."

"Okay, I'll do that. It's starting to get a little chilly anyway," America said with a chuckle.

England smiled weakly in response and his gaze slid down a little further than necessary before he tore himself away and left.

At 6 o'clock exactly, America knocked on the door of the room. England looked surprised that America had shown up on time.

"Come in, sit down," England said, gesturing toward the table, which was now arranged so that there was one seat on either side. A stack of books was on the table, along with a lumpy green bag.

America sat down and waited. There were four candles spread out, one in each corner of the room. They weren't lit; the only light was the sunset coming through the large windows.

"What're we gonna do now?" America asked once England had taken his seat.

"Well, we could talk about our options. I've done a bit of research," he said, patting the stack of books at his side, "and there are a few things we could try. Spells, summoning, divination, etcetera."

"Sure, let's do it!" America said excitedly.

"Which?" England asked.

"Why are you asking me?" America pointed at himself.

"I still don't know what the source of your problem is. If you give me a hint, I could research it more specifically. For example, if your problem was caused by a demon, you could describe the appearance of the creature and I could look it up. It would be easy to reverse the effects from there. I have quite a few books on demons, and what is so funny?" he asked as America snickered.

"No, it's nothing. I'm glad you know so much about demons, _Giles_."

England's face grew hot. "You can mock me all you want right now, but if you try that during a ritual I will get up and walk away for good."

America stopped smirking and nodded. "I promise I'll take it seriously. It's just strange to hear you talk about this stuff. You never say anything about it to me."

England glared at him coldly. "I wonder why."

America gulped. "Well, uh, maybe we could try some spells? Is there anything we could do?"

Immediately, England pulled a book from the pile and opened it. "Yes, this will work for a start." He got up and started to light the candles around the room. The atmosphere of the room changed drastically, and America felt himself becoming calmer. In the soft light, England's demeanor seemed to shift as well. He looked happier and more comfortable. "Oh, I almost forgot, switch off your mobile and put it by the door."

America took his phone out of his pocket and put it away. "Is that so you don't get interrupted?"

"Well, yes. It's also safer." England smiled mysteriously and America got so caught up in that smile he forgot to ask what the hell that meant.

England took a few items out of his bag, including an amulet and a ring with a blue stone set in. He put the ring on and passed the amulet to America, gesturing for him to put it over his neck. America did so and waited patiently.

America already seemed very relaxed, so England went ahead with the incantation. He closed his eyes and spoke a series of words that seemed unfamiliar to America at first. After listening more closely, he could make out snatches of words, though they sounded warped. England opened his eyes and examined America's face.

"Do you feel any change in your mental state?" he asked.

"No. Am I supposed to feel it that fast?"

"It depends on the spell. We'll try another."

"Is that safe? To do so many at once?" America asked nervously.

"With me, yes." England smirked again, emboldened by being in his element.

America wasn't sure this was true after what had happened during the meeting, but he didn't question it aloud. England looked something up in a different book, and started another incantation, this time putting both hands flat on the table. This spell was more rhythmic in sound, and America realized he was speaking some form of Old English. When it was done, England looked up hopefully.

"I, uh…my nose itches. Is that a sign?" America replied.

England sighed and starting looking through several more books. Just when America was getting bored of waiting, England tapped one of the passages happily.

"Remove the amulet, and close your eyes this time," England instructed. America handed him the amulet and closed his eyes. He opened them again cautiously, but England was staring back so he shut them tight.

America waited as England started speaking. This time, however, something was different. He heard the words differently, and felt them enveloping him, as though England was embracing him with his voice. He felt like he was falling, the wind blowing his hair back and creating pressure against his forehead, which became more intense until he couldn't keep his eyes closed anymore. He thought he saw the candles sparking in his peripheral vision, but at once everything was calm again. England was watching him with a satisfied look.

"Did something interesting happen?" England asked.

"Yyyes," America responded hazily. Something had definitely changed, but he didn't know what it was yet.

"It may take a while before you know if this one worked properly, so we'll have to wait until tomorrow to know for certain."

America gave a double thumbs-up. He felt like his entire body was slurring. "So we done or what?" he managed to say.

England hesitated. "There's one more thing we might try tonight. If you feel up to it, that is."

"Whatisit, baby?" America was starting to feel very good, like a side of his old self was coming back.

"Certain symbols, when drawn correctly and repeated in succession, can have mystical properties."

"Sounds goooood," America said slowly.

England continued. "If you wish, I can apply one to you. It may help ensure the spell's success."

"Awwright."

England walked around the table and helped America take off his jacket, and then told him to get up while he turned the chair around. "Please unbutton your shirt. I won't look." He turned his back, though at the moment America didn't care at all. Once the shirt was undone, England lifted it to expose America's back. The air was cold on his skin, and drew out some awareness of the situation.

America was facing away, so he couldn't see what was happening. England kissed his fingertip before placing it lightly against America's back, applying just enough pressure. America grabbed the back of the chair and rested his head on top. When England started to move his finger, it was like something cutting through America's being. It was definitely a repeated pattern, but damned if America could say what the shape was, being so caught up in the sensation of that finger tracing lines and loops over his skin. Every time the pattern started over, it felt like it was leaving more of an impression. America wished that it would last forever, but then it stopped, and the haze overtook him again.

Somehow, he managed to get back to his hotel room in one piece. He wanted to go out and find some nightlife, but England had warned him to take it easy, and made him promise not to do anything stupid. America found that he suddenly didn't care what England wanted, but his legs weren't really working properly, so he decided to rest anyway. Yes, something had changed. His problems seemed to have gone away, dissipating from his mind one by one. He wasn't nervous or insecure or worried about anything other than what movie he was going to watch before going to bed. He felt so good that he ordered room service, laid on the charm thick and got a bottle of champagne for his troubles.

His head felt vaguely loopy, but he also felt unstoppable. He poured himself a glass of champagne and sat on the balcony, letting out a feral yell every once in a while, telling the world know that he was back, and up for any challenge.

After eating a large dinner and finishing his drink, he watched the most explosion-filled movie he could find on the hotel TV. He enjoyed every second of it, including the vague romantic subplot, which didn't evoke any peculiar thoughts whatsoever. When he got ready for bed, he gave the aluminum case a swift kick and let out a giddy laugh. The spell had worked, and everything was going to be okay, and his life would be back to normal. He went to bed feeling as confident as he ever had and drifted off peacefully.

He was surrounded by empty space, but it wasn't lonely. It felt like he belonged there. He took a few steps and his skin started to radiate with warmth, like the afternoon sun streaming in from an open window. At first there was nothing but the sound of his own breathing, but after some time he noticed a gentle tone, like a voice humming softly. He followed the sound. A figure began to emerge, and he knew that it was England, sitting on the ground and facing away from him, humming something distant yet familiar. As soon as England noticed him, he smiled in a way that beckoned America towards him without a second thought.

When he approached, America slid down to the ground, and England held him. He stroked America's hair and started humming something different – something that America recognized right away.

"_…amber waves of grain…_" England said softly, running his fingers through America's bangs. He leaned down and started to recite the rest of the song, punctuating each line with a soft kiss. America listened, closing his eyes at every touch. England hesitated when he reached the third stanza, but then went ahead, carefully winding around the words as though offering them up to America, not in surrender but in adoration.

"_O beautiful for heroes proved in liberating strife, who more than self their country loved, and mercy more than life._"

America savored it. In reality, England refused to discuss any aspect of the rebellion. Here, England breathed the words against America's skin, caressing him tenderly, trying to prove that they were more than their past. It became a testament of love; a message of affection and respect.

"_…and crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea._" England kissed a band across America's forehead, and America wanted to reciprocate. He turned into England's embrace and everything became dark.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly. There was already some light outside his hotel room. The clock said that he still had several hours until his day was supposed to begin, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. He sat up in bed and tried to ignore the sinking feeling. He'd been so close to escape, only to be sucked back in by a dumb dream. The nerves started in soon enough, and he felt worse than before.

By the time he was sitting in his seat next to his colleagues, the lack of sleep was potent. His muscles spasmed and his stomach ached, and he closed himself off from everyone else throughout the meeting.

England grabbed him during the lunch break and had managed to deduce that the spell hadn't worked.

"It worked for a while, but when I woke up this morning I felt like crap."

England rubbed his chin. "Hmm…It seems as though it was just masking the problem."

"Is there another version of it? Something more permanent?" America asked hopefully.

England gave him an apologetic look. "No, but don't lose hope yet. There are many avenues yet to try."

America couldn't feel more depressed than he already did, so he tried to look forward to that glimmer of hope. "Tonight?"

"Yes, we'll meet at the same time."

America tried to smile but couldn't manage anything more than a grunt.

The day slogged by at a torturously slow pace. Having been so close and to have it all snatched away was a lot for America to handle. Still, he made it through and showed up at the room only a few minutes late. At England's gesture, he put his phone by the door and sat down.

There was a distinct smell in the room, but America was too tired to guess at what it was.

"I thought we might try a bit of divination today," England said abruptly.

"What's that?" America asked. He knew he'd heard the word before.

"It can be a lot of things, depending on how it's used. I thought we'd attempt a tea leaf reading to start."

"Oh, that's the smell," America said with a frown.

"I'll examine the leaves and look for patterns and symbols that emerge."

"What good'll that do?" America asked.

"Well, it can reveal possible solutions that you may not have noticed and influences that are affecting your life, or a choice you must make or, well, any number of things. We won't know until I read for you."

America squinted. "How specific is it? Hypothetically?"

England considered this. "The symbols may give a direction, but I'll only know as much as you tell me, so I'm afraid it might not be as exact as you want it to be."

"Oh," America said, relieved. "That's okay. Let's try it."

England started to set up. He already had a pot waiting in a tea cozy. After putting out a plain white tea cup and saucer, he poured a cup and added milk. "If you so much as mention the name Trelawney, you'll be wearing this tea as a decoration."

England pushed the cup towards America and sat back.

America stared at it. "What happens now?"

England stared back blankly. "You pick it up and do a Mexican hat dance. What do you think?"

"I have to _drink_ it?" America said with unconcealed disgust.

England sighed. "Yes! You have to drink it so the leaves are imbued with your essence."

America held the cup to his face and sniffed the liquid inside. "But it's all gross and watery and tastes like leaves."

"That's the _point_. Er, the bit about leaves."

America sigh heavily. "Fine. Can I have some sugar, at least?"

"Certainly." England handed him a dish full of sugar cubes and a spoon and watched with equal disgust as America dumped several cubes in. "Think about the issues that are plaguing you. Drink the tea, and then I'll tell you what to do next."

America nodded, and started to drink.

"You know, there was a time when you loved tea," England said softly.

America stared at him. "Things change."

They sat in awkward silence and America drank the tea quickly, not wanting to prolong the experience.

"There," America said finally. "All done."

"Good. Hold the cup in your left hand and swirl it three times anti-clockwise, then place it upside down on the saucer."

America did as he was told, and put the cup down.

"Now tap the bottom three times."

America tapped, and England lifted the cup and brought the saucer closer to his side.

"The cup and the saucer are both significant: the cup denotes unconscious symbols and the saucer represents the conscious."

He examined the cup, turning it around and inspecting every angle. After taking some time to look at the saucer as well, he started to speak.

"They're quite scattered," he remarked. "Though that's not unexpected for nations."

England turned the cup towards America, who leaned in for a better look.

"There's a figure of a bicycle near the handle, as you can see. You'll soon have to choose a path, and it might be a road you haven't explored until now. Close to the bicycle is a robin, upside down towards the center. It represents an ending of some sort, which could be positive or negative. It may very well relate to the path that you choose."

America nodded, trying to keep up.

"A hare sits near the bottom of the cup, which could signify an important trip in the approaching future. That or romance," England said with a chuckle. America laughed weakly.

"Near the back there appears to be an infant, which indicates the need to resolve a childhood issue." England said this frankly, willfully ignoring any implication that it applied to him. America gulped, unable to stop himself from thinking about his dream.

"And this appears to be a ladle, which represents successful partnerships in the future. Good for me then, I suppose."

America sat back in awe. He was able to see every image that England had pointed out, but only after several minutes of scrutiny. "How did you find all those symbols so fast?"

"Years of observation and tea consumption. Shall we continue?"

England picked up the saucer, which had a few clumps of leaves and a bit of tea swirling around the center.

"Remember," he explained, "these are the aspects you're already aware of. The most prominent figure is of an eagle, which indicates that you may be put into a situation you find tedious, but know to be worthwhile." England laughed at this. "Perceptive little leaves, aren't they." America smiled at England's amusement.

"Here's a larger human figure next to outline of a heart near the rim. Their relative position implies that great happiness awaits, should you choose to seek it. In all, what I see from these images is that you are on a journey, and there will be trials along the way, but you will be led to a place of happiness and contentment if you allow yourself to be taken there."

America sat with a dazed look before putting his face in his hands and rubbing his forehead.

"I'm sorry if it seems confusing. It might not make sense to you now, but in time the pieces will come together. If it doesn't apply to your current problem, I also apologize for that. I can only read what is given to me."

"Yeah," was America's meek reply. He closed his eyes and tried to absorb what he'd just heard, but something in his mind seemed to be keeping him from fully understanding it. He sat in silence, tapping his finger on the table until England's voice broke through his mental haze.

"Alfred," England said slowly, "do you want to go out somewhere?"

He froze and looked up. "W-what? Now?"

"Yes. We could have dinner or go for a walk or whatever you wish."

"Alone?" America asked simply.

England flushed. "Y-yes. Unless you don't want to, of course. I just thought that you seemed genuinely upset today, and perhaps the reading didn't go as you'd hoped. It might do you good to get out of your normal routine."

America's heart leapt.  
"Yeah," he said with a tentative smile. "I'd love to."

* * *

"Notes":

- Funyuns are onion-flavored snack rings. I'm not sure why America associates them with China (though there is a county called Fuyun in Xinjiang). I also feel it is my moral obligation to inform the world (the small group of people reading this) that Funyuns were invented by a man named Douglas Bubbletrousers. DOUGLAS. BUBBLETROUSERS. Yeah. You're welcome.

- Rupert Giles, of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fame. Loves books, tweed. Topnotch.  
- "America the Beautiful" is public domain. Don't sue me. [Nevermind that I'm using someone else's characters for entertainment…]  
- England may have neglected to mention that you can also read coffee grounds. Funny, I wonder why.  
- Professor Sybill Trelawney, employed by Hogwarts, likes the tea leaves. I know, two Harry Potter references so far. I apologize.

Thanks to Erin and Dani for their help.  
Comic-con is this week, so the next part will probably be a little delayed. I'll try not to be too late!

ETA: Two chapters left!


	5. Chapter 5

"Great. Right, well, is there anything you'd like to do?"

America tried to think about it, but his mind was having trouble concentrating on any one particular thought. "I dunno. Is there anything you want to do?"

"Well, there is one option you may find interesting. Have you heard about the exhibition?"

"Yeah! Canada told me about it a while back but with everything that's been happening, I just forgot." Maybe that had been the reason behind America's frustrating festival dream.

"Would you like to…?"

"OH! Yeah, of course!"

"I thought you might," England said with a small smile.

America bounced in his seat as England started to clean up. "You remember the last time we went to a festival? It was a while ago. You were visiting me for some reason, but I don't even remember why we went." America's heart inadvertently started to beat faster as pieces of the dream flashed across his mind.

Even through the dim light of the candles, it seemed that England's face had turned a stunning shade of red.

As if prompted, America filled the silence. "Do you remember?"

England started wiping down the saucer more vigorously. America waited for him to answer, which he finally did when the plate was pure white. "We were celebrating," he said tersely.

"Uh…celebrating what?" America asked.

The blush deepened. England looked incredibly attractive when he was flustered. So much so that America almost didn't hear his reply. "Us. I mean, our relationship. Ah-er, our _alliance_."

America stared at him blankly. "W-we were?"

England sighed, delicately packing away his tea set. "It was your idea. Don't you remember? Blair and Clinton, rejuvenating the alliance? They'd had us in meetings all week and you said you wanted to celebrate your own way."

Another blank stare. "I did?"

England stood up and turned on the lights before blowing out the candles. "It doesn't matter," he said softly. "It was a long time ago."

It wasn't really that long ago, but England didn't seem too keen on discussing it. Now the dream made more sense, but America was astonished that he had forgotten about the reason behind the visit. England obviously remembered it, so why had _he_ blocked it out? America tuned back into reality to see England struggling with the furniture

"Let me get that," America said. England stammered with embarrassment but stood back and watched as America picked the table up with as much ease as lifting a piece of paper. After putting the furniture into place, America bent down and gathered England's stack of books into the crook of his arm.

With the room cleaned up and the lights turned off, they left the building. America carried all of England's supplies effortlessly. They quickly stopped by England's hotel to drop them off. America felt incredibly strange walking into the stillness of England's tidy hotel room. He set everything down and waited in the hallway while England changed. Being so close to England's bed and living space was proving a lot for his mind to handle. He shoved his hands into his pockets and started whistling, trying to ignore the fact that England was taking off his clothes a few feet away.

England emerged from the room minutes later wearing a sweater and a plaid scarf. America usually made fun of his tendency to constantly dress for cold weather like an old man, but now it seemed endearing. They walked in silence toward their destination. These were the moments that America usually filled with babbling or bragging over his latest achievements, but for once he was focused on not making an ass of himself. It didn't feel half bad, walking alongside England in the darkness, surrounded by the glow of the city.

Soon the beating of his heart and the sound of his own measured breaths flowed with an undercurrent thought that repeated itself throughout the night: _is this a date?_

An edge of panic spread through his body. Why had he agreed to this so quickly? If he'd only taken a second to think about the possible consequences…no, he still would have chosen to go. Even so, the fear coursed through him. He would have to make sure that he stayed focused and didn't do anything regrettable.

They wound around buildings and groups of people on their own nighttime excursions until finally the lights of the festival were in sight. America spotted a couple of large rides and a Ferris wheel in the distance, and started to bounce on his heels.

At the front, they waited in line for a few minutes before getting to the ticket booth. England paid for both of them before America could raise any objections.

_Oh shit it's a date isn't it oh god_.

America grinned at him in thanks as though nothing was wrong, but it felt like his mind was somehow hyperventilating.

The exhibition was substantially larger than an ordinary festival. They spent some time exploring the exhibits before making their way around to the food. After America loaded up on snacks, they stood and watched some of the performers attempting physical feats and illusions, even as a cold wind started to blow through the crowd.

When they finally got to the rides, America hesitated.

"Well…?" England asked, waiting for America to take charge and shove him onto a ride.

"Oh, um, do you wanna go on a ride?" America asked awkwardly.

England paused and shook his head in disbelief. "You're asking? I suppose…maybe one or two."

"Awesome," America said with a grin. He approached a ride and gestured for England to go in front of him, which England agreed to with a peculiar look. They sat down in one of the seats and waited for the ride to start up. America was still quiet up until the ride got moving. Once everything was going, America slowly started acting like himself, waving his hands in the air and cheering louder and louder as the ride got faster. England would have sighed with relief at America acting normal if he hadn't been hanging onto the safety bar for dear life.

After that America rode out the adrenaline, making them go on nearly every ride they could see. England didn't mind at first, but after a while he started to feel slightly ill, and was glad when America wanted to see the band that was playing.

They went over to the live music that had started and stood in the audience. The band appeared to be playing covers of classic rock and pop songs, and after listening for a while, America started dancing without realizing it. He couldn't help it; his hips just reacted to music. Before he knew it, he had been completely taken in by the music, and only noticed something was amiss when he saw the subtle amused smile on England's face. America's heart pounded loudly, but he was still running on adrenaline.

"C'mon, dance with me!" he shouted over the crowd.

England flushed and shook his head, but when America pouted he reluctantly started to move his shoulders. The song soon ended and when the next one began, they both recognized the beat immediately. America pointed at England as he started doing a bizarre move with his knees.

"It's Adam Aaant! Come on, you gotta!"

England smirked as he watched America's crazy dancing. "You're absolutely ridiculous," he said with a noticeable hint of affection.

America looked a bit flustered, but started snapping along with the melody and singing. "_Goody two - goody two - goody goody two-shoes…_"

With a sigh, England started to move with him, shaking his hips as much as his sense of public decency would allow. It wasn't the first time he had allowed America to drag him into something like this. Eventually they were both dancing with stupid grins on their faces, laughing at their own dorkiness. As the song ended, the laughter slowly died out.

"Well, I'm beat," America lied. "Let's get something to drink."

England agreed. They were walking towards the soda stand when they heard some familiar voices. They both stopped dead in their tracks. Across the lane in front of them was a group of nations. America could see France, Spain, Canada, Germany and Italy approaching nearby, and wouldn't have been surprised if more were with them. Quicker than you could blink, America and England were running towards the rides, and didn't stop until they'd gotten plenty of distance between themselves and the group of nations. It wasn't until America had stopped to catch his breath that he realized England had run with him the whole way.

The two men looked at each other.

"W-wait," America said, using a bench to steady himself, "why did you run just then?"

England grabbed the back of the bench, equally winded. "I…could ask you the same thing."

He didn't ask. Both men looked at the ground as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world, staunchly avoiding each other's gaze.

"Perhaps we should go on another ride," England suggested, desperate to remain far from the food area.

They headed towards the closest ride, which happened to be the Ferris wheel. As he climbed into a car, anxiously looking around to make sure no nations were near, America's heart thumped loudly in his chest and the heat in his body rose involuntarily.

_Is this a date?_

Their car ascended slowly. Even though the trees had been replaced by steel and concrete, the view was stunning. They both look out over the city, and pointedly away from each other. Though his skin felt hot, a breeze made America shiver.

"Heh. It's colder than I thought it would be," he said quietly, excusing the sudden movement.

England didn't reply, but a moment later America felt his arm being nudged. He turned to see England offering part of his scarf, still looking away.

"Thanks," America said, grasping the end of the scarf and looping it around his neck. It would have been rude to reject the gesture, after all. The length brought their bodies closer together. America could almost feel the warmth of England's breath, and was convinced that England could hear his heart beating rapidly. From the corner of his eye, he could see England's slightly parted lips. They looked so warm and inviting in the chilly night, backed with the lights of the city glittering like stars. Just a few more inches and they could be touching, skin against skin, soft and warm. America couldn't get the thought out of his mind, but they were descending now. Soon the moment had passed, and it was time to leave the ride.

America unwound the scarf, returning that side to England. They got out of the car and decided it was time to go. Still cautious of who was in the crowd, they moved quickly amongst the groups of people, keeping their heads low until they were through the exit and headed in the direction of the hotels.

France glanced sideways and did a double-take as two familiar heads moved past. He turned to his companions, flickering his gaze back and forth curiously. "Was that who I think was?" he asked, trying to catch sight of them again.

"Nope," Canada said calmly. "Just your imagination."  
When his words were ignored, he grabbed France's arm and pulled him in the opposite direction.

The notion of "_is this a date is this a date is this a date_" rang through America's mind until they were outside his hotel. America fumbled with his hands and shuffled his feet.

"So, uh, thanks. For the- for everything."

England smiled appreciatively, though he seemed a little wary. "Certainly. I had a lovely time. Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah, I do! It was just weird, what with you being so nice to me. I guess I've been pretty pathetic lately, huh?"

England was taken aback. "What do you mean? I'm always nice! When am I not nice?" He realized too late that the shouting probably wasn't going to help his case.

America shrunk back and mumbled. "I didn't mean it like that. Sorry."

England's expression softened. "No, I'm sorry. It's just…a strange night."

"I know."

They stood quietly until England spoke up. "Well, I hope you're in good spirits now. One more day before the recess."

"I had fun. I'm sure everything will be better tomorrow."

"Ah, yes. Well, good night." England waved.

"Night," America said to England's back. He waited until England had turned the corner before walking into the lobby and going up to his room.

Okay, so it hadn't been a date. England had made his intentions pretty obvious. Even so, it was nice to know that he cared. And it was for the best. America's fevered mind didn't need any more encouragement. Or so he told himself.

He spent at least an hour turning over in his bed restlessly, replaying their ride on the Ferris wheel over and over again, haunted by glimpses of flushed skin and pink lips.

The next day was indeed better for America. He felt somewhat content after such an eventful night, and was almost looking forward to a day of boring meetings so that he could just relax. Even though he was still nervous, his heart didn't feel like it was trying to forcefully escape from his chest. The only odd part of the day was that fact that France kept studying him with such intensity that he constantly felt the urge to check his face in the mirror. He didn't worry about it too much, though. France was France, and things were finally going his way again. It wasn't until after lunch that the day went slightly downhill.

Throughout the last half of the meeting, England looked like he was in pain. He kept rubbing his head and muttering to himself. It brought down America's mood considerably, but he wasn't sure what he could do. After the meeting, he asked England what was wrong.

"Fighting," he said stiffly. "They're fighting."

Ah. Parliament headaches.

"More than usual? Must be some debate."

"Indeed," England replied, not in the mood to elaborate.

"Sorry. We don't have to meet up tonight, if you want to go back and rest. That would probably be for the best."

"No, they'll be finished soon. We'll meet at the same time."

"Okay, if you're sure." America said goodbye and left while he could still resist the urge to kiss it better.

England did seem calmer when he opened the door of the room, although there seemed to be a heavy crease in his brow.

"So, what're we working on this time?" America asked, rubbing his hands together. He took a seat and stared excitedly at the bag by the table.

"I've brought several items that may be useful." He dropped the bag between them and started to bring out the books.

America opened the bag and reached his hand inside. England didn't raise any objections, so he dug in deep. There seemed to be a lot of amulets and stones, as well as a couple of large feathers and smaller bags. He extracted the largest item from the bag and held it in his hands. It was a long stick that forked at the end. He grasped the forked end and felt a strange tug, as though the stick was trying to pull him closer to England's side of the table. It was no match for his strength, of course.

"I think I know what this is," America said with confidence, having conquered the stick.

England glanced up from the book he was studying. "A divining rod?"

"Heh, yeah! I remember these from back in the day! You use it to find water, right?"

"That depends on the context of use. They are frequently used to detect groundwater, but in certain forms of divination they will point toward your heart's strongest desire."

In a split second, the stick hit the wall with a loud thud and burst into two pieces. America looked at England with a sheepish grin.

"Sorry. It slipped. Did I ruin everything?"

England chuckled and went back to reading. "No, it's a stick."

Glad that he wasn't in trouble, America kept his hands under the table and waited for their session to begin. England cringed periodically, and seemed to be having a more difficult time concentrating. The concern flowed through America, but he didn't want to overstep his bounds, so he continued to wait.

Finally, England started to pull objects from the bag. He conducted a series of rituals during which America had no idea what was going on, and couldn't tell if anything supernatural was happening at all. After the fourth one, England slammed his hand against the book in frustration.

"That should have worked!" he yelled at the book. He turned to an empty space next to his shoulder. "Well it should have done!" he yelled at the air. "I know what I'm doing!"

He leaned in close and flipped through the pages of the book. It wasn't the first time America had seen him talking to himself, but he seemed particularly distraught this time. At the moment, America didn't care about the failed spells; he wanted nothing more than to hold the man in front of him and stroke his hair soothingly and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

"Mistranslation! It's always the sodding translation!"

"Hey, Artie, it's okay. Maybe we should try something else for now," America said gently.

Surprised by America's soft tone, England looked up. They stared at each other for a moment before England put the book away. "Yes, alright. Something else."

England took out a few containers. America gulped and eyed them warily.

"Don't worry, this one is much more mild," England assured him. "Even if you do go wrong again or lose control, you shouldn't be able to do much damage. We're alone in an empty building, after all."

America gulped again for a completely different reason.

England took out a small milk bag and poured it into a cup, along with some honey and a bit of salt. "See," he said while mixing everything together, "nothing harmful here." He mumbled a few words and took out another object. It was a large seashell, into which he poured some of the mixture and handed it to America.

America took it hesitantly and sniffed the concoction.

"It's clean," England said, assuming that to be the reason behind America's hesitation. "Perfectly hygienic."

America took a sip. It was a little bit strange, but didn't taste too bad. He drank the rest quickly. When he'd finished, he put the shell down on the table. They sat in silence for a little while.

"That was…nice," America said finally. England sighed and fell against his pile of books. America just stared and watched as England sat up again and rubbed his head.

"There's…er…maybe bibliomancy? It's not always practical, but it could be worth a go."

"How do we do it?" America asked.

"You do it, actually. We already have a bookshelf here. Just stand by the shelf, think about your quandary, close your eyes and sweep your hand along the shelf until your instinct tells you to stop. You then take the book nearest to your hand, open it, run your finger along the page and read the passage you find. If it's done properly, the words you read should provide some guidance."

America squinted. "Sounds like something preteens do at sleepovers," he said.

England huffed. "It's a legitimate form of divination. If you don't want to try it, that's fine."

America stood up and walked to the bookcase near the back of the room, putting his hand on the shelf. "So, just like this?" he asked.

"Yes. Let your heart and mind guide you."

America closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After a long pause, he moved his hand along the shelf. He could feel some dust rubbing onto his palm, but he tried to concentrate. When he stopped, he pulled down a book and took it to the table without looking at it. He opened to a random page, pointed at a passage and read it to himself.

"_Remember your name.  
Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found.  
Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn.  
Trust dreams.  
Trust your heart, and trust your story._"

"What does it say?" England asked curiously.

America shrugged. "Uh, nothing really. Just stuff about, um, ghosts, or whatever." He wasn't quite sure what the passage meant to him, but he felt the need to keep it to himself.

"Ah," England said, rubbing his chin. "Sometimes these messages are rather esoteric."

America laughed nervously. "Heh, yeah, well that's okay." He felt his palms become sweaty and carried to book back to the shelf.

When he came back to the table, England's face was in his hands.

"Hey, what's wrong?" America asked, almost reaching out to touch him but then thinking better of it.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for…I just…I'm sorry."

"You apologize way too much. You have nothing to be sorry about," America said softly.

"Yes, I do," England replied gently. "So much. I'm sorry that this has all been useless. I want to help you, but I'm not sure I can."

America froze for a moment, but then answered slowly over the lump in his throat. "Are you giving up? I mean, I understand if you are. If there's nothing left to do, then I guess that's that. You didn't have to help me in the first place, so there's no reason for you to feel bad about it."

England shook his head. "But I do feel bad. And no, I haven't given up. I just feel your frustration."

Relief and hope flooded America. "It's okay! As long as we can still try, I'll be patient. And hey, it worked that one time, right? For a little while, at least. I'm sure we'll find something if we keep looking."

For some reason, this didn't seem to comfort England much. Before he could apologize one more time, America interjected.

"What're you doing tomorrow?" he asked, feeling the heat in his blood rise even as he spoke.

England was startled by the interruption. "Ah, I'm not sure. Read, perhaps. There are a few specialty stores I'd thought about visiting."

"Sounds thrilling," America said flatly. "Hey, you wanna do something? Maybe this time I can cheer _you_ up!" He injected some false enthusiasm, hoping that England would take him up on it. A part of his mind was screaming bloody murder at him, but he stamped out that thought.

England thought about it and nodded. "What did you have in mind?"

"Dinner?" He had no idea what he was doing, so he quickly started planning. "Maybe drinks?" Yeah, that was good. England liked alcohol.

"Where?"

"Ah. Uh, it's a surprise. Let's meet outside my hotel and we'll go from there." America had no idea what he was talking about, but at least he had a day to think about it.

England smiled. "That sounds lovely. Yes, let's meet."

"And we can lay off the magic for a couple of days. Clear you mind."

England looked as though he might object, but he leaned back in his chair and nodded.

America helped him clear up the room and then left to plan. Along the way back to his room he mentally kicked himself for making such sudden plans with the object of his distress, but England had looked so sad. A friendly dinner seemed like just the thing that would make him feel better. There was nothing wrong with building up their friendship, even while he was trying to get rid of romantic feelings.

In the morning, after looking through brochures in the hotel lobby, America finally decided where he wanted to go. He made a call to Canada, who was strangely willing to help him get a reservation. America spent the day walking along the streets alone, enjoying the feeling of being somewhere familiar yet distant. The nerves tingled in his fingers, building up as the day went on, until finally he was waiting outside his hotel, leaning against the cold marble. He'd spent a slightly unreasonable amount of time picking out an outfit that wasn't too formal or too casual. Yeah, he couldn't wait until he didn't care anymore.

England showed up exactly on time. He was wearing a fresh suit, and looked as though he'd just changed. America knew he was picky about his clothes, so he didn't dwell on it.

"Did you have a good day?" America asked as he started walking. England followed next to him, letting him lead the way this time.

"It was relaxing," England said after taking a deep breath. "You?"

"Mhm, same."

They walked for fifteen minutes, making small talk until America stopped and looked up. There was a tall tower stretching out above them with a large pod on top.

England grinned. "I should have guessed."

"W-what?" America asked. Was he that predictable?

"A revolving restaurant? Of course you'd choose the most ostentatious location possible." Apparently he was. Nevertheless, England's grin remained. They went inside the base of the tower and took the elevator up to the top. Their table was waiting when they got there. The restaurant was round, and larger than it seemed from the outside. They sat down and adjusted themselves. The sun had just begun to set.

"Weird how there's so much darkness when the sun is so bright," America said, pressing against the glass like a child and looking down at the buildings below.

"The light is angled," England replied, reading through the wine list.

"I know. Just sayin'."

They ordered their food and watched as the world outside moved almost imperceptibly. As the sun sank lower, the sky became a fiery gold, with warm tendrils shooting out behind the clouds.

"Do you still take the train?" America asked out of the blue.

"I- of course. Why?"

"I dunno. I don't really use it much anymore. Usually when I go places, it's just easier to fly nowadays."

England glanced at America, who was still looking out the window. "I'm not sure if you've noticed this, but I'm slightly smaller than you. The train is still quite practical for me."

"I miss it sometimes." America rested his chin against his hand.

England grunted and turned back to the window.

"Hey," America continued, "do you remember those trips we took way back when? The first time you came to visit after the war?"

England's lips curled up in a nostalgic smile. "Along the coast."

"We watched the sunrise from the observation deck."

"Yes," England said wistfully. "I remember."

Their food started to arrive, and the conversation fizzled out for a while. As the evening wore on and the atmosphere became more night-like, they continued to reminisce about the past. Trips that they'd taken together and parties they'd attended. America was surprised to realize how many of his good memories were also England's. It hadn't occurred to him that England might hold those shared memories with the same regard.

Once they were finished with dessert, they rested for a while before heading out. England argued over the bill, but America insisted that he still owed England for all his help. Once the promise of post-dinner drinking was made, England quieted down and agreed to let America get the bill.

Eventually, they went to a local bar and ordered their drinks. With a drink in his hand, England immediately became less tense. They had several rounds, still talking about memories of trips and conferences past. During a lull in the conversation, and once he had a few drinks in him, England started humming.

"Why are you always doing that now?" America asked, vaguely buzzed but not yet to the point of incoherence.

England stopped and looked at him. "Doing what?"

"The humming. You're always humming."

"What? I ain't 'always humming'. When d'you hear me humming?"

America realized that, of the two occasions he'd been thinking of, one had been a dream. "You just…you hum. 'Sweird."

England squinted and resumed the melody.

"Fine, but what ARE you humming? It's always something I recognize but I never know and then it makes me mad."

"You're drunk," England stated. "Why don't you guess? F'you get it right I'll buy you a drink."

America nodded, so England continued the song. America listened so intently that he had to hold on to the counter to make sure he didn't fall off the stool.

"I dunno," he said after listening to the whole song. "I think it's a theme song, but I don't know what it is."

England started humming the same song again. After a moment of intense concentration, America shrugged his defeat.

England sighed. "It's 'Only Fools and-"

"ONLY FOOLS AND HORSES!" America yelled, gesturing wildly in his excitement.

"That don't count," England insisted, taking a long sip of his drink.

America pouted.

"Fine, 'ave another go," England conceded. He started to hum the melody of a different theme song.

"LIFE ON MARS! Hah, that was easy!"

England scoffed. "Congrashulations, you know the theme to a pro'rum that aired sree years ago." He oozed superiority despite his slowly dwindling verbal skills.

"Now you guess!" America started humming a theme song, forgetting the purpose behind their guessing game.

"Mash," England said quickly.

America stopped, slightly crestfallen. "Aw, how'd you know?"

"'S too eashy. An you always do Mash."

America grunted, angry at his own predictability. "Fine, let's see if you can get this one." He grinned wickedly and started humming the tune to the American version of The Office.

England narrowed his eyes dramatically. "Yooou _pillock_."

By the time they'd finished playing their game, both men were thoroughly drunk. America's hotel wasn't too far away, and he decided it would be good to hang out in his room. "…to sober down. Or sober up. Sober something."

They stumbled down the hallway, arms locked together, laughing at the wild movement of the world. It took America several tries to open his door, but when he finally did they both burst forward into the dark room. America went toward the bed and tried to find the bedside lamp. Just as he flipped the switch, England stumbled into him and knocked him onto the bed.

They laughed at the accident and stayed there until the laughter dissipated. England's face was pressed against America's stomach, brushing a small patch of sensitive skin that had been exposed during the tumble. An uncomfortable heat started to build between them. England rolled over, mumbled something about a toilet and disappeared into the bathroom. America could only pay attention to his own breathing, willing the heat in his body to go down. He was still mostly numb thanks to the alcohol, but that incident had sobered him up a bit. He let himself fall to the floor and crawled to the table, pulling himself onto one of the chairs. He scooted the chair so that he could rest his feet up on the bed and settled in. England came back and sat down heavily in the other chair.

Neither man said anything for a while. They were both tired and vaguely embarrassed and still very drunk. America started making weird noises to entertain himself, and eventually England joined him, laughing much more than he should have. They giggled stupidly and felt a bit more relaxed after that. America slouched down in the chair, moving his feet higher on the bed.

"Y'know what, England? I like you." He spoke very slowly, like he was trying to get the words out through a mind filled with syrup. "I mean, I like being around you. An even though you're a grumpy old fart a lot of the times, that's okay. Cause no matter what, you're a good person. You're tiny and you're brave and you don't smell that bad."

England grunted, deeply confused and not entirely conscious.

"An I also like how sometimes you say my name, an you put an 'r' at the end so it kinda sounds like 'Americar'. Cause then I think about how cool it would be if I could turn into a car." He made sounds like a racecar and England let out a snort of laughter. America babbled a little longer until the words became more stretched out and he drifted off.

When his alarm rang in the morning, England was gone. America sat up very slowly, wrapped in one of the spare blankets from the closet. His body was not very happy with him for falling asleep drunk and slumped in a chair, so he was grateful that the alarm had managed to wake him up with enough time to get ready. He made himself some coffee and thought about the night before. He remembered more than he'd expected to, including the surprisingly distinct memory of England pushed flush against his body. Holding his cup of coffee, he winced and hoped that he hadn't said anything too embarrassing before falling asleep.

Despite having a hangover, the day turned out to be exceedingly pleasant. The experiences of the past few days had brought back that old camaraderie between himself and England. They talked throughout the day like close friends, which garnered plenty of peculiar looks from the rest of the world. America couldn't be bothered to care why. He was in a happy place.

They had dinner again that night, though they both agreed it would be best not to go drinking again so soon. True to his word, America insisted that they hold off on the magic until the next day. It had been a week since his accident with the gun, and something inside him said that he could wait a little bit longer.

The following day was nearly as enjoyable. Suddenly, the world meeting didn't seem quite so boring. Joking around with England and being silly with him made it all seem sunnier. After the meeting, they discussed their course for the night.

"We don't even have to do anything, if you're still tired. We could go get a bite to eat or see a movie or something." America's cheeks brightened ever so slightly when he said this.

"The conference will be over by the end of the week. We'll still be able to work on your problem at a distance, but it would be best to exhaust the most obvious options while we're still able to meet face-to-face."

America blanched, remembering his predicament and the possibility of trying to live with his problem while being an ocean away from England. "Yeah, you're right. Let's try something. How about some more divinalation?"

"Divination? I suppose. We haven't done a tarot reading yet."

"Ooh, is that like those fortune tellers?" America asked.

England almost lashed out, but held back. "Sort of. Yes, I'll prepare for that."

America grinned. "Cool."

America opened the door to the room, and immediately sensed something different in the air. The candles were already lit, gently glowing in the corners of the room. The table was covered by a deep purple cloth, with pieces of metallic stitching that shone dimly in the candlelight.

"Ah, come in," England said. America sat down and shifted awkwardly, not sure if he should rest his arms on the cloth.

"This is quite a set-up," America said, looking around.

"Tarot is one of my specialties. I like to prepare extensively."

"Right," America said, relaxing just a little.

"Shall we begin?" England asked. He leaned down and took a wooden box from his bag. It was intricately carved with branches and leaves that twisted all across its sides. England set it down and removed a small bundle from inside. He unraveled the string that held it together, and a stack of cards emerged from the red cloth wrapping. They were longer and larger than playing cards, with a blue design on the back. England set the cards aside.

"Your hands, please," he instructed, holding the red cloth in his right hand.

"My hands?" America said, confused.

"Put your hands out so I can cleanse them. I have to remove negative influences and purify you."

"Won't you have to clean the cloth afterwards?" America asked curiously, rolling back his sleeves and resting his elbows on the table.

"I'll clean everything in due time."

"You really think I'm that dirty?" America quirked his eyebrow.

"_Filthy_," England mumbled quietly to himself, thinking that America couldn't hear.

America shivered and glanced away as England took his hand.

The fabric was soft. England draped it over America's left hand and started to rub gently, pushing against the cloth with nimble fingers. America could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin layer of fabric. England worked at a torturously slow pace over each finger and over his palm, rubbing every part of his hand several times. They didn't look at each other, but they were leaning in extremely close. By the time England had moved onto the right hand, America could barely breathe. Didn't England have any idea what this was doing to him? Just when America felt ready to burst from the warmth and the touching and the nearness, England pulled away with an air of reluctance. He wiped his own hands on the cloth in a matter of seconds and put it aside.

England coughed. "So. Er. Right, well, now you can take the cards."

America picked up the stack, awaiting instructions.

"Shuffle the deck as much as you want. Think about your problem and when the time feels right, set the cards down."

America nodded and started to shuffle. He didn't have to make any effort in thinking about his problem, as it was pretty much a narration of his life at this point. He cut the deck several times and kept shuffling. With a cheeky grin, he did a few fancy tricks in a misguided attempt to impress England, who just stared with a neutral expression. He even dropped the deck once, but England just watched and waited solemnly as he picked the fallen cards from the table and put them back in the deck. Finally, he stopped and set the deck in the middle of the table.

England took the cards and turned them towards himself.

"Pick up three cards and set them down in a row. From there I'll be able to do the reading."

America took the top three cards in turn and set them down in front of England.

"All that for three cards?" America said.

"Three cards can reveal a lot," England replied. He pointed to each card, starting with the left. "This card represents the subject." He moved to the middle. "This is the problem." Finally, the far right. "And this one predicts the resolution."

America watched with baited breath. England turned the cards over.

The first card on the left held the image of a chalice. The cup sat in a field of flowers, and water was pouring from it. The middle card was upside down. On it, a man and a woman stood in embrace in front of the sun. On the last card were four sticks and two human figures holding garlands. America studied the images on the cards for a while. He eventually realized that several minutes had passed, and England hadn't said a word. When he sat back, it looked like England was in a state of shock, staring at the cards like they had just predicted the end of days.

"England? Hey, what's the matter?" America asked, fearful that the cards held some terrible fate for him.

England didn't answer right away. When he did, he spoke quietly without looking up. "You didn't tell me the problem involved romance."

America froze completely. Every hair on his body stood on end. "I, uh, I don't…um…you can tell that from the cards?"

"Not individually, but together there's a clear theme."

America sat still for a while. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. "I'm sorry," he muttered finally.

"No matter. You had your reasons." England's pleasant tone of voice was obviously masking something, but America kept silent. After another moment of contemplation, England started speaking. "Here's the Ace of Cups. Remember, this card is the subject. From what I now know of your problem, it would seem to represent overflowing love. A love so abundant and pure and joyous that it's difficult to contain."

For just a moment, America looked into England's eyes. A spark of something powerful and dangerous passed between them.

England continued after a moment of hesitation, gesturing to the card in the middle. "The Lovers. A highly significant card; one of the Major Arcana. It would normally represent sexual attraction, equal partnership, budding romance and many of those qualities in a relationship. However, this card is reversed, which suggests a troubled relationship. The problem may be that there are two people who are meant to be together, but something is preventing this from coming to fruition. You may be separated from someone you belong with, which could be at the root of your problem."

England paused and shifted, examining the cards once more. "And finally, the resolution. This card is the Four of Wands, which represent a journey toward true love and celebration. Potentially, marriage. It would seem that your separation may be corrected, and your problem will ultimately end in a successful union." He sat back in his chair and took a breath. "Well, there it is. At least we have a more specific answer now."

America couldn't move. A shiver went up his spine and seemed to stay there.

"Are you okay?" England asked. America's face was pale.

"America?" England leaned forward. America's right hand started to shake on the table.

"Alfred?" he asked in a softer voice. America's gaze was fixed on one of the candles. He didn't move.

"Alfred!" England leaned across the table and grabbed America's hand, enveloping it in his own. America flinched and looked at him. There was an intense fear in England's eyes, the likes of which America hadn't seen in many years.

"Alfred, it's okay. Please, listen to me. The cards…they aren't important. I'm not- _the cards_ are not telling you what you have to do. It's merely a suggestion; one of so many paths that you can choose. Please, don't think that…don't think that you're stuck. You still have so many journeys and you shouldn't think for a second that something's holding you back, because you have so much strength. You have to choose what's best for you. It's the only way you'll meet your potential. I-I know that now. So please, don't feel trapped. Only you can make this choice, and we both know that one decision can change _everything_."

America could sense that England was talking about something far beyond a tarot reading. All he could do was nod. England relinquished his hand and occupied himself with the clean-up.

"Are we done, then?" America asked quietly.

"With everything? If you want to continue looking for a solution, I can still help. We haven't run out of options yet. Unless you've found your answer." England's voice was heavy with emotion, despite his best efforts to appear indifferent.

"I-I'm not sure," America replied.

England smiled pleasantly at him, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Let me know if you want to meet again, and I'll gladly arrange it."

America nodded and, sensing that England needed time to himself, said goodnight and left.

As he walked to his hotel, something strange came over him. He felt a combination of fear and dread, but there was also a cheerful edge sneaking up on him. The cards had told him something extremely important. He did have another option, and one that he hadn't actually considered.

He could just…give in. Why not? What was so bad about the possibility of being with England?  
They were already close friends. Sure, they lived far away, but they had more opportunities to see each other than a lot of long-distance couples. And what did it matter that they were both men, if they made each other this happy? Sure, the other nations would tease them endlessly, but since when did America give a shit what the rest of the world thinks?

Walking along the street, he thought about it. In the elevator, up to his floor, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Sitting on his bed, he wondered how he could have gone so long without seeing it.

He would just pursue England. Then he would have someone who cared about him more than anything. Someone he could think about each morning when he woke up. They could give each other stupid nicknames and he could call England at all hours of the day and just talk and talk and take comfort in his voice. They could pal around together and drink together and touch and kiss and all of those wonderful things. Maybe they would even stop fighting so often. They would be friends but…together. America took out his cellphone and sent a text to England, telling him that he wanted to meet. Might as well do it sooner than later.

An immense peace came over him. Why hadn't he done this to start with? All that worrying and sulking and depression and wasted painful emotions, when the answer had been there all along. He sighed happily and turned over. The cards had predicted it, so why shouldn't he have this happiness? It was there for the taking. He would go to England after the meeting, hold him in his arms and never let go.

Finally, everything was coming together. There was nothing stopping him from having this. Nothing standing between him and-

His eyes caught sight of a silver gleam.

He sat up and looked at the briefcase sitting on the floor, so innocuous. And everything, all of his hope and joy, came crashing down on him.

That's why he couldn't have this. Why he couldn't have England. This wasn't real. His feelings, his elation at being around England – none of it was real. It was a manufactured effect of a beam passing through his brain.

He _couldn't_ act on it. If he entered into a relationship knowing that his feelings were false, or knowing there was a possibility that they might someday go away without notice…he cared too much to do something like that to England. What if England started to really fall in love with him? Could he risk the possibility of leaving his best friend sad and broken with a heart full of unrequited love? Now that he knew what it felt like, and how much he cared about England as a friend and as a person, there was no way he would let that happen.

He really was stuck. Trapped in a prison of his own making. He wanted to scream and thrash about and throw that stupid gun into the ocean, but all of his energy had vanished.

His cellphone sounded an upbeat tune. He read England's reply quickly and collapsed back onto the bed, letting out a sigh that seemed quash any remaining liveliness.

The phone fell onto his sheets and the message slowly faded out:  
_Tomorrow at 6  
One more try_

* * *

"Notes":  
- Tony Blair and Bill Clinton had a bad bromance, in case you didn't know  
- Don't drink, don't smoke. What do you do?  
- Oh man Parliament headaches are the _worst_  
- I spent way too long trying to figure out how one should spell M*A*S*H in dialogue. Sorry if I pissed off any diehard fans.  
- So what becomes of you my love~  
- Nngh America D: Sooo close

Thanks to Erin and Dani for their help.

One more chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This is the final chapter. It contains heavily implied non-explicit sexual situations. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

America tossed about as he thought of the next day, waiting for sleep to overtake him. He was going to meet with England, of course, but they would keep looking for a cure. No holding or touching or any of that. Just good, old-fashioned magic.

And America could deal with that. Despite having been within reach of a solution only to have it taken away yet again, he would do what he had to do.

He woke up to a strange sensation, as though his chest was being constricted by some invisible barrier. He stood in front of the mirror and pressed a hand to his nightshirt, but all he could feel was his heartbeat speeding up whenever he thought about trying to make it through the day. He'd been through such a barrage of intense emotions over the past week, he was almost surprised that he could still see himself. The scar on his forehead was barely visible now, but the longing in his eyes was more apparent than ever. He leaned against the glass and took deep breaths. A thought echoed through his mind.

_Feelings that already exist._

His eyes opened slowly as the rhythm of his heart pounded erratically. Was it true? More importantly, was it enough?

On the way to the meeting, he tried to shake off his confusion. His head was already a jumbled mess, and there was no way he'd be able to face these few remaining days if he wasn't able to sort himself out a bit.

When he walked into the meeting hall, England was already in his seat. He was looking off into space with deep concentration. When America sat down, England greeted him with a small gesture of his hand before spacing out again.

As America got settled, the constriction in his chest seemed to tighten further. He became hyper-aware of the position of his body in line with England's. His feet and his hands tingled and he imagined himself moving just a little closer to the left, and brushing his pinky against England's. He almost jumped in his seat when the meeting was called to order, severely flushed from his wandering imagination.

He kept it together as the meeting wore on, but the struggle was greater than ever. Now that he had considered the possibility of being with England, there was no where else his mind could go. Meanwhile, England continued to smolder with an intensity aimed at no one in particular. By lunchtime, it was hard for America to breath. He was so twisted up inside that it was becoming physically painful. He watched achingly as England left the room.

"Is something troubling you, America-san?" Japan asked after setting his prepared meal on the table.

America groaned and slumped in his seat, still watching the door that England had left through. "I don't know what I'm gonna do. Why did I have to think up that gun in the first place? Life was great until now. It wasn't perfect, but it was pretty damn awesome. I thought I had everything I wanted. Now…it's all wrecked. I don't know how I'll be able to get through this. All because of one little slip of the finger."

Japan studied him for a long time. "America-san…" he started to say. He opened his mouth several times, carefully forming something in his mind, but unable to communicate the thought aloud. Finally, he turned his chair with unexpected deliberation and stared America down. In response, America sat up straight and listened, surprised by Japan's sudden forwardness. Japan took a deep breath and finally said what he wanted to say.

"America-san, love is not a weapon."

America stared but Japan just nodded and returned to his food.

He sat in his seat and tried to think about what Japan had said, but it didn't stick. The words just hung in the air, blocked by his stubborn mind. In his head, he went over the incident with the gun several times, imagining what might have happened if he'd just been a bit more careful. After exhausting that thought, he started to feel restless, so he walked over to one of the open windows and looked outside.

It was a sunny day. There were birds in the trees and people on the street, strolling along and talking and living their lives. The sky was covered with wisps of clouds, and the world was beautiful. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, thinking about a time when his life had been simple, but something became clear. Those moments that seemed trivial now had felt like insurmountable hurdles at the time. Bruises and cuts from a run in the woods would fade over time, but it still hurt like hell when you got them. And even in childhood, there had always been one person on whom his happiness and dreams depended. It had never been simple.

Of course, the complexities of his childhood didn't really help his situation now. Throughout the rest of the meeting, the tension in America continued to grow. Even though he and England hadn't actually spoken a word to each other all day, it felt like they were completely entangled in each other.

By the time everyone started leaving, America felt like he was going to burst. He walked to a nearby fast food restaurant and bought the largest burger they made, but he barely ate any of it. And when it was time to meet with England, he was no longer sure of his ability to make it through the day. The walk down the hallway to the end of the building felt like it took hours. The walls stretched out further with every step, but he suddenly found himself standing in front of the door. He stared at the doorknob for several minutes, waiting for his heartbeat to steady. It didn't, so he took a deep breath, opened the door and walked inside.

The lights had been turned off. There were no candles lit this time. A good amount of natural light still shone through the large windows. The table was pushed against the wall, leaving a big empty space with both of the chairs already in place, facing each other on either end of the room. England stood by the table, flipping through the pages of a book. He glanced up when America entered the room.

"Have a seat," he said simply, without explanation.

America sat down on the nearest chair and folded his arms. He looked around and tried to figure out what England was going to do. He felt a little nauseous at the thought of something as intimate as the previous evening. Maybe it really was time to end these little meetings. If it was already this difficult to sit in a room alone with England, it probably wasn't going to get better anytime soon.

England picked up the book he was looking through and carried it as he sat down in his seat.

"I'm surprised you haven't asked what we're doing today," England said, still looking down at the book now in his lap.

"Uh, what're we doing?" America asked, feeling the hairs on his neck prickle at the sound of his own anxious voice.

"I'm going to trace your energy. I'll establish a force field for protection and then I'll be able to study your aura. This should help me to see if you've been cursed, and where the energy is concentrated."

America nodded. "Kay."

England tilted his head at America's quick, unquestioning reply. "You'll have to keep your arms at your sides. And no moving."

"Sure thing." America put his arms in place.

"Give me a moment. I'm trying to find the proper incantation for a small scale force field." England held the book up and flipped through more pages.

America waited patiently, watching England's face closely. He saw that the sadness had returned to England's eyes. There was a heavy air to his expression and America felt devastated because there was nothing he could do about it. He observed and waited like he always did, just one beat short of reaching out to touch and comfort the man he loved. England looked up from his place in the book, as if he could feel the intensity of America's watchful eyes.

America could imagine himself reaching out, but he couldn't make himself do it. All he could do was smile back at England. So he put everything he could into that gentle smile. All of the love and camaraderie and admiration he could muster. He knew that a smile could only convey so much, but it was the best he could do. He thought about everything they had been through together and smiled because he just wanted England to stop being so sad.

At that moment, something in England snapped. His eye twitched and he let the book fall from his hands. It hit the floor with a heavy thud, pages spread out and crinkled, but England didn't seem to care. He slowly stood up and approached America, circling around his chair and looking at him from all different sides.

"W-what about the force field?" America asked.

"Don't need it," England replied huskily as he focused on America's left side. "Stay still."

England leaned over, hovering just above America's ear, supposedly examining his aura. That tension in America's chest had spread to the rest of his body. He felt England's breath on the side of his face and almost flinched, but stayed facing forward. Suddenly, he felt the tip of England's nose dragging along his cheek with an unbelievably light touch. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. When he opened them again, England's face was nearly in front of his, scrutinizing him.

He gulped and England moved closer. Soon America couldn't see anything else. His pulse was racing and his skin was on fire where England had brushed against him. Now England was sliding to the left, nose pressing soft against his cheek until finally the corners of their lips touched. England inched just a little bit further to the side and both men pushed forward, meeting each other in the middle. Their mouths crashed together in something that wasn't so much practiced as a meeting of flesh against flesh. They pulled back and glanced at each other briefly before tilting their heads and meeting again in something more definable.

The rush was unbelievable. America couldn't even berate himself. At this point, "self-control" didn't mean anything. He was kissing England and, for some reason, England was kissing him. England's lips were incredibly soft but his movements were deliberate and hungry. America almost lost himself in the intensity of England's draw, but eventually started to push back eagerly. England pulled away just as the shock was wearing off. America let out a soft whine, but England was only repositioning himself, swinging a leg over to straddle America's lap.

Now they were completely pressed against each other. England trailed gentle kisses along America's neck until their lips met again. Their bodies moved with their fervor, shifting and pressing as if they could meld together. Instinctively, America put his hand on England's hip to hold him in place, digging under the layers of clothes so that he could brush his thumb against warm skin. How could a former-empire have such slender hips? England moaned into his mouth and reached up to thread his fingers through America's hair.

America couldn't get enough. He loved the feel of England's hands caressing him. The pushing and pulling and demanding. England's soft moans and their palpable shared enthusiasm. Having a tangible England moving against him was better than a dream could ever be. Even the tension in his chest had dissipated, leaving an abundant happiness in its wake. However, there was one little thought pestering him. It got louder and louder, disrupting his enjoyment until he couldn't ignore it anymore. He gently pushed against England's chest and let out a few breaths, trying to catch his body up with his mind.

"I…I can't do this," he whispered grimly. A pain shot through his heart as the words came out.

England tried to appear calm, but his eyes couldn't hide the truth. It was as though his worst nightmare had come true. "Why?" he asked, voice aching at the thought of being betrayed yet again.

America looked up at the ceiling, unable to deal with the heartbreak in England's voice. He whispered slowly. "It's just…it's not fair. What if this isn't real?"

England seemed slightly puzzled, but his concern dialed down severely. He placed his hands on either side of America's face. "Oh Alfred," he said with total affection. "What do you want?"

America closed his eyes in concentration.

"Don't think about it," England interrupted. "Just tell me. _What do you want_?"

The trees behind the windows were dark, but the fading light from the sun radiated behind England, creating a warm glow around his face. "I want you," America replied simply.

England sighed and nuzzled his face against America's neck. "_Then you have me,_" he whispered. America could feel England smiling against his skin.

And there it was. No turning back. He nudged England's face and kissed him warmly, finally prepared to deepen their relationship.

They held each other until the sun went down, kissing and creating their own warmth and light in that tiny room. Eventually they managed to put the room back into its proper place, which took substantially longer than normal due to England's sudden knack for ending up on top of the table. When the room was tidy and the books in place, they left the building hand-in-hand.

***

England awoke to the sound of muffled voices. He cracked one eye open and immediately shut it again. He felt absolutely no desire to move from his spot, pressed comfortably against Alfred's warm chest. It had taken him far too long to get there. However, the noise was too loud to ignore. He listened closely.

"So, is there any new information or what? I'm not really sure why you called." America's voice was much louder than he probably intended it to be. There was the mildest hint of irritation in his tone – the kind that one would only be aware of if they'd spent decades listening to his inane babbling.

"There, um, there is something we need to tell you, sir. W-we thought it was time to…to tell…ah…"

England didn't recognize the voice on the other line, beyond the fact that he was American and sounded quite nervous. For another minute or so, the mystery man rambled and stuttered without saying much of anything, and his voice from the phone became increasingly faint. Suddenly, another voice came across the cellphone speaker, loud enough for England to hear very clearly.

"Why're you pestering this poor man, Jones?"

England knew that gruff voice. It belonged to a man named Boomer. He and Alfred had met several years ago through the military and he was one of the few people outside of special operations who was aware of Alfred's real identity. He was loud and forthright and America loved him for it, though England didn't particularly care for his abrasive attitude.

"Hey Boomer! What're you doing over there?" America asked, barely bothering to whisper anymore.

"They asked me to talk to you about this issue they've been having."

"Oh? What issue?"

"_You_, Al."

America titled his head back against the pillow. "Huh?"

"Seems you've been calling about a certain gun you took from them."

America grumbled slightly in his response. "Oh, yeah. Well, I wouldn't really say 'took' like it's a bad thing. I mean, it was my idea."

"So you were reckless, like always…"

"There was no safety on the damn thing!"

Boomer continued. "…and now you're trying to fix your mistake."

America sighed. "I _was_."

"Well, I'm here to tell you something, Al. I want you to listen very carefully to what I'm about to say. Ready? Here it is: _there is no such thing as a gun that can make you gay_."

England almost started at this, but managed to stay still. He turned his head slightly to hear better. Alfred paused for some time.

"S-sure, I know that. It just makes you fall in love, like some kind of weird love beam, right?" America laughed nervously. England was now completely alert.

"Huh? No! There is no gun that can _make you_ homosexual or fall in love or hump a tree. It. Does. Not. Exist."

America's laugh was even more nervous. "Uh, yeah it does. I have it. I held it in my hands. Look, I went on a tour of the lab and they told me it was still in the testing stage, but I wanted to have one anyway. And maybe I shouldn't have taken it, but it's totally real."

Boomer sighed audibly. "Do you live in some fairytale world with elves and unicorns and little green aliens? You're not in a movie, Al. You are not the lord of the rings and you definitely aren't a pretty princess. This here is the _real_ world."

It took all of England's concentration not to speak up and protest the presence of Tolkien in this bizarre conversation. He was starting to connect the dots and could feel an angry heat erupting inside him.

"Besides, the way these folks tell it, you barged into their work one day and blabbered about one of your crazy theories. And then the next time you came back, they tried to tell you the project only existed on paper, but you didn't believe them and refused to leave until you had a copy of what they were working on. According to them, the gun you took was a prototype from a different project. Knowing you, I'm a bit more inclined to believe their side of this mess."

America's breath hitched. "So…what does _this_ gun do?" he whispered fearfully.

Boomer paused. "Nothing! It's non-functional! Just a lump of metal, only for design."

"Nothing. It doesn't do anything." America seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone else. His voice was strangely quiet now. "So, why didn't they just tell me that in the first place?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe they were intimidated, or confused about protocol. Or maybe they didn't want to face the possibility that their own country is a complete _dumbass_."

Even though he couldn't see America's face, England could picture it very well. It was probably that same pout he'd been using for centuries, cheeks puffed out and red, whenever someone scolded him. Boomer started up again with a heavy sigh.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Al, you're a good guy. I know you didn't mean any bad by it. You get carried away sometimes, but that's just who you are. You imagine what _could be_ instead of what _is_ and, well, I think you've achieved a lot on account of it. That's why I fight for you. That's why I'm your friend."

"I know," America whispered.

"Well now, since you know what you need to know, you can stop bothering these fine people." He chuckled. "I just hope you didn't do anything stupid because of that gun."

America let out the most awkward laugh possible. "Ahahaa, nope everything is perfectly fine and normal and I'm great, so thanks for telling me and I'll call you later goodbye." He dropped the phone onto the side table and settled back into the pillows.

England felt that this was as good a time as any to address his pressing dilemma. He sat up and climbed on top of America, positioning himself above the startled nation.

"You thought a _gun_ made you _fall in love with me_," he spat viciously.

"Oh," America replied, twisting his fingers in the sheets. "You heard that, huh?"

"A gun? You came to me for help because you thought a _gun_ put a love spell on you."

"W-well, not exactly a spell, per se…"

"Did you…did you think…" England gasped. "_Were you thinking that when we made love?_"

"Heh," America smiled uneasily, sinking further and further into the mattress as England hovered over him. "To be honest, I wasn't really thinking about much last night."

England sat back and groaned in frustration. "Only you. This entire situation would only be possible with you. Of all the people in the world, I had to fall in love with a complete fool. So tell me, did you do anything '_stupid_'?"

America smiled sheepishly. "Never. Although, would I win any points if I told you that I'd been planning to call the scientists and tell them I didn't want a cure anymore?"

England stared at him and his expression softened slowly. In the back of his mind, he was still riding the bliss of the previous night, and the anger was getting tedious. "Perhaps." He slid down to America's level and kissed him on the cheek. "You're lucky; I've decided to be 'nice' this morning."

America kissed him several times and settled in beside him, slowly stroking his fingers through England's hair. "I'm sorry."

England grunted and moved closer to America. His sensible self still wanted to be angry, but it was difficult when his physical self was being caressed by Alfred's fingers. He knew that he had every right to be yelling and kicking up a fuss, but after so many years of longing, Alfred's actions seemed trivial. He'd never thought that they could actually be together; he had dreamed and occasionally hoped, but never really thought it would come to anything, yet here they were. They lay side by side for some time, cuddling and listening to each other breathe. England blinked slowly, on the verge of falling asleep, when he noticed America staring at the ceiling with a stunned look on his face.

"What's the matter now?" England asked.

"I realized something," America replied trance-like.

"Hmm?" England said.

America turned to the side and held England's gaze. "If the gun didn't do anything…then that means I'm really in love with you. Like, completely in love with you." He reached his hand out and cupped England's flushed cheek. "I think…I think I have been for a while."

England looked into his eyes steadily. He wrapped his hand around America's and kissed his palm. "Then it's a good thing you realized it. A few more decades of waiting and I would have been _very_ cross."

The sound of Alfred's gentle laughter calmed his heart.  
"I'm sorry," America said when he'd quieted down again. "I'm sorry about everything. I know I've probably put you through hell, but I swear I'll make it up to you."

"It's alright, love. As long as we're together, I'll be happy," England replied softly.

America scrunched his face. "I know, but I feel awful about this. If I'd just told you what happened to begin with, you would have set me straight. Uh, so to speak. Then you wouldn't have had to waste all that time researching and helping me with my nonexistent problem."

England froze and a grimace of guilt flashed across his face.

"…What? What is it?" America asked.

"I, er, well, I…I may have a little…confession of my own." England's grin was painfully guilty. America was baffled. What the hell was going on?

"You can tell me anything," America insisted.

England hesitated, glancing around shiftily. "You see, the thing about it is…when you came to me asking for help…I, erm…I knew there was nothing wrong with you. Nothing that magic could cure, anyway."

America's jaw fell slack. "What? Wait, what? How? Why were you helping me, then?"

"Well, I would have been able to sense it. A-and I thought that perhaps you would work out the problem along the way. Sometimes these things work themselves out if you keep thinking on it." England still sounded like he was hiding something. America stared at him until he started to feel extremely uncomfortable. "Alright, alright! I…I thought it might...make us closer. I just wanted to spend more time with you." He spoke in a very small voice, looking away shamefully. "Do you know how long it's been since you asked for my help? Not in politics, but personally? The feeling of being needed…by _you_…god, it's been so long. I couldn't let it go."

America studied him carefully.

"I know, I'm pathetic," England said quietly. "A pathetic old fool in love."

America leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss. "You're not the pathetic one here. I just wanted to understand. I always thought you were the last person who actually wanted to spend time with me."

"Alfred…of course I want to be around you. I mean, you are rather loud and strange at times, and you have no respect for your elders, but we've shared so much. I always invite you over despite your constant insulting of my cooking, don't I?"

America thought about it. "Then why does it always seem like you're mad at me?"

England sighed. "Well, our history isn't perfect. And we don't always, er, overlap."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. It could be worse, though. We haven't driven each other _completely_ crazy yet." America leaned back and put his arm around England's shoulder. England nuzzled his arm and they sat in pleasant silence for a bit, until America's mind got back on track. "Hey, wait. If you knew there wasn't any magic in me, then what were all those books about? And the spells and stuff?"

England laughed nervously again. "Er, well, most of the spells were just mild charms. For luck and so forth."

America considered this. "Well, what about that potion that made me go all wacky?"

England flinched. "That…that was actually an old cure for scurvy. No magical properties whatsoever."

America's eyes widened. "…what? Then why did it make me all crazy?"

England shrugged. "I've no idea. It must have been your own mind."

Slowly, America raised his hand and rubbed his head. "What is _wrong_ with me?"

England shook his head apologetically.

"Okay, then what about that one spell that did work? Cause I didn't feel anything that night."

England looked more guilty than ever. "That was a sedative. Essentially. I just wanted you to stop worrying."

America stared at him blankly. "You _drugged me with magic_? Wow, this relationship is off to a great start."

England cringed. "I know, it was a terrible thing to do and I'm sorry. I had a moment of weakness."

"And the divininination stuff?"

"Ah. That was all real. No point in faking it, really. The readings apply regardless of the root of the problem, and I thought they could be useful."

America sighed, vaguely relieved. "Well, I guess we both went about this the wrong way."

"Perhaps."

They studied each other. They both knew that they'd committed worse offenses against each other, and that the worst could be yet to come, but there in the light of the morning it didn't seem so bad.

"I think we'll be okay." America slid his hand behind England's back and pulled him close. "So, what's that I heard you say? About being in love with me?" He grinned slyly.

England pushed him away half-heartedly and turned red. "Of course I'm in love with you. You'd have to be pretty bloody stupid not to see it at this point."

America's grin got bigger. "And is that why you attacked me like that yesterday?"

England gasped. "Attacked you? The way I remember it, you kissed me too!"

"Yeah, eventually. But I was the one sitting down in the chair. You were the one looking at me like I was a delicious juicy steak."

"I was tracing you energy!" England shouted indignantly.

America quirked an eyebrow. "With your mouth?"

England wanted to slap the grin off his face, but decided to kiss it off instead. When America was suitably quiet, he responded softly. "After the tarot reading, I didn't know what to think. I kept…imagining you with other people, and I couldn't handle it. When you looked at me like that, I thought it might be the last opportunity I had."

America smiled softly at him and brushed his thumb against England's temple. "How long have you had feelings for me?"

England closed his eyes. "You don't need to know that." America was extremely curious, but he didn't press it, and England curled against him. "Do you remember during the war, when we spent those long stretches waiting to hear from our boys?"

"On the joint missions, yeah. I was scared, but you were always cool as a cucumber."

England chuckled gently. "I was completely terrified. When it was just the two of us, I would imagine how many steps would be involved in removing your uniform. Not the wisest line of thought, but it managed to keep me sane."

America shot him a very serious look. "Do you remember how many steps you counted?"

"Why?" England asked with suspicion.

America smirked and whispered in England's ear, "Cause I've still got that uniform at home…"

England smirked back, his voice a low rumble. "Then we should test it out soon. You do know how I strive for accuracy."

America flipped him onto his back with ease and started to nibble on his earlobe, trying to coax more of those soft noises from England's lips. "_Fuck,_" he whispered, "_you even moan with an accent._" England groaned in response and wrapped his legs around America's waist, pulling him closer.

The alarm clock buzzer sounded abruptly, ripping them apart. They both turned and glared at it with unbridled hatred. America slammed his hand on top of it so hard he completely dislodged the power supply.

"…they won't care if we miss _one_ day, right?" America asked aloud.

England nipped at his jaw. "Won't even notice we're gone."

They grinned and disappeared under the sheets.

***

"Where _are_ they?" Germany said, standing at the front of the table. "They know we can't hold the meeting with both of them gone!"

"I called Arthur's phone earlier this morning, but he didn't answer," Canada replied.

The meeting should have begun fifteen minutes prior, but neither America nor England had arrived. The rest of the nations were fidgeting restlessly, ready for the day to begin.

"Has anyone called America? Honestly, what could they be doing that's more important than work?" Germany scratched his head and starting looking through his official directory.

"I think I know what they're doing," France purred.

"Don't be obscene," Germany insisted. "I'll call America." He approached the secure conference phone, turned the speaker on and dialed America's number. It rang several times until there was a click. A few nations leaned in, vaguely interested in what was happening. Before Germany could speak, they heard several beeps, like the person holding the phone was pushing buttons.

Suddenly, an angry voice was broadcast over the speakers.

"_How on earth do you shut this bloody thing off?_"

It was England's voice, coming through America's phone. The rest of the nations perked up. There was a chuckle in the background, and another voice that sounded further away.

"_You make the most adorable face when you're frustrated,_" America said.

Germany reached down to press the button that would end the call, but a group of nations lunged at him, throwing their hands out to protect the phone.

"Shhh!" they all whispered sharply at each other.

"_Don't give me that smirk, lad. I'll show you frustration._"

"_Is that a threat or a promise?_"

Germany made another vague attempt to end the charade, but the other nations were holding strong.

"_Here, fix it._" England's voice became further away and there were several shuffling sounds.

"_You should really learn a thing or two about technology, old man. The world's gonna leave you in the dust._" America's voice was much more clear now.

"_Perhaps. But first I'll have to deal with your insolence._"

There were sounds of struggling and moving sheets, followed by moaning and other heated noises. The phone slipped from America's fingers and onto the mattress with a soft thud.

"_Nnngh…ahh Arthur…oh fuck yes, right there-_"

Germany finally broke through the nations blocking him and stabbed at the button, cutting off the call. There was an instant of silence before the chaos erupted. Some nations immediately started babbling to their neighbors about how it had probably been going on for ages. Others were blushing and cringing on behalf of the missing party. Some seemed completely indifferent, while others were tired of all the attention being given to those two fools.

France was giggling ecstatically and planning new ways to collect blackmail material. Canada was nodding along, but seemed genuinely pleased about something. Romano had gotten a mysterious binder out and was making marks in it, talking loudly to his brother about having some money to collect. Japan sat alone in his corner next to two empty chairs, and couldn't have looked happier about it.

Germany sat down and started to think about how much time it would take to rein in his colleagues, let alone gather the two missing nations. He sighed with defeat and took out his pen.

"I'll just mark them absent."

* * *

Thanks to Erin and Jean for their help.

And a boatload of thanks to everyone who commented/reviewed/read! AAaaaahh!


End file.
